LETTERS  OFJOHN  RUSKIN 
TO  CHARLES  ELIOT  NORTON 


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LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 

TO 

CHARLES  ELIOT  NORTON 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOLUME  II 


LETTERS 

OF 

JOHN  RUSKIN 

TO 

CHARLES  ELIOT  NORTON 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOLUME  II 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

1904 


COPYRIGHT  1904  BY  CHARLES  ELIOT  NORTON 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


Published  November,  1Q04 


'i.c  GETTY  CthlU 
LIBRARY 


CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  II 


PART  III,  Continued.  1868-1873 

LETTER  PAGE 

LXXXVIII.  Venice,               17  June  [1870]  4 

LXXXIX.  Venice,               19  June  [1870]  4 

XC.  [Venice],             20  June  [1870]  6 

XCI.  [Florence],         29  June  [1870]  8 

XCII.  Bellinzona,           8  July  [1870]  9 

XCIII.  GlESBACH,                  12  July,  1870  II 

XCIV.  Denmark  Hill,     29  July,  1870  12 

XCV.  Denmark  Hill,      7  August,  1870  13 

XCVI.  [Denmark  Hill],    9  August,  1870  16 

XCVn.  [Denmark  Hill],  14  August,  1870  17 

XCVin.  [Denmark  Hill],  17  August  [1870]  18 

XCIX.  [Denmark  Hill],                [1870]  20 

C.  [Denmark  Hill],  26  August,  1870  23 
Cl.  [Denmark  Hill],    9  September, 

1870  25 

CII.  Cowley  Rectory, 

Uxbridge,        30  September, 

1870  26 
cm.  [DiCNMAUK  Hill],  10  November, 

1870  28 


vi 


CONTENTS 


CIV.  [22  December],  1870  30 

CV.  Oxford,  23  February,  187 1  31 

CVI.  [Denmark  Hill],    3  April,  1871  31 

CVII.  [Denmark  Hill],  18  May  [187 1]  34 

CVin.  Broadlands,  28  May,  187 1  35 

CIX.  Denmark  Hill,     10  August,  1871  36 

ex.  Brantwood,  14  September,  187 1  37 

CXI.  Brantwood,  15  September,  187 1  38 

CXII.  Melrose,  24  September,  187 1  38 

CXIII.  [Denmark  Hill],    i  November,  187 1  40 

CXIV.  [Denmark  Hill],   3  November,  187 1  41 

CXV.  Denmark  Hill,      6  November,  187 1  42 

CXVI.  [Denmark  Hill],  15  November,  187 1  43 

CXVII.  Denmark  Hill,      9  December,  187 1  44 

CXVIII.  [Denmark  Hill],  23  December,  187 1  45 

CXIX.  [Denmark  Hill],    4  January,  1872  47 

CXX.  [Denmark  Hill],  28  [January,  1872]  48 

CXXI.  Denmark  Hill,     13  February,  1872  49 

CXXII.  Denmark  Hill,   [13  February],  1872  50 

CXXIII.  Oxford,  [13  March],  1872  51 

CXXIV.  Herne  Hill,        10  August,  [1872]  53 

CXXV.  Oxford,  18  November,  1872  53 

CXXVI.  Lancaster,  27  December,  1872  54 

CXXVII.  Brantwood,  15  Januar}%  1873  5^ 

CXXVIII.  Brantwood,  7  February,  1873  57 

CXXIX.  Brantwood,  8  February,  1873  57 

*    CXXX.  Brantwood,         26  February,  1873  59 


CONTENTS 


vii 


PART  IV. 

CAAAl.  xiRANTWOOD, 

25  June,  1873 

^5 

UAAAil.  ±)RANTWOOD, 

15  July,  1873 

00 

L-AAAiil.  UXFORD, 

2  December,  1873 

00 

CAAAiV.  xlERNE  xlILL, 

II  February,  1874 

69 

UAAAV.  jlERNE  JtlILL, 

13  February,  1874 

70 

i^AAAVl.  xlERNE  xlILL, 

[14  February] 

i»74 

71 

L.AAAV11.  UXFORD, 

15  February,  1874 

72 

CAAAVlil.  x^ISA, 

9  April,  1874 

72 

L/AAAIA.  ASSISI, 

II  April,  1874 

74 

r'YT  AccTCT 
V^AJ_/.  /iSSISI, 

19  J  une,  1074 

75 

YT    T          A  OOTCT 

LxAJLl.  ASSISI, 

20  June  [1874] 

77 

CAL/il.  ASSISI, 

21  June,  1874 

79 

v^AL/iil.  J-iUCCA, 

12  August,  1874 

o2 

r^YT  TIT"     T  TTt~>/^A 

AL«1  V .  JLUCCA, 

12  August  [1874] 

ft  >• 

»4 

L.AL.V.  LiUCCA, 

[15  August]  1874 

86 

r'YT  VT    T  Jinn  A 

18  August,  1874 

88 

/""YT  '\7'TT     TTt  /-vtj irxTr"!? 
l_/AJ_>Vil.  rLORENCE, 

21  August,  1874 

91 

/^YT  '\rTTT      TTt  /-kT>  T-XTz-'-r- 
l^AijViil.  rLORENCE, 

23  August,  1874 

93 

CXLIX.  Florence, 

26  August,  1874 

95 

CL.  Florence, 

7  September,  1874  98 

CLI.  Florence, 

16  September, 

1874 

99 

CLII.  Lucca, 

21  September, 

[1874] 

1.0 1 

CONTENTS 


CLIII.  St.  Martin's, 
CLIV.  Brantwood, 

CLV.  Ashbourne, 
CLVI.  Herne  Hill, 
CLVII.  Brantwood, 
CLVIII.  Brantwood, 
CLIX.  Brantwood, 

CLX.  Herne  Hill, 
CLXI.  Broadlands, 
CLXn.  Cowley  Rectory, 
CLXni.  Cowley, 

CLXIV.  Broadlands, 

CLXV.  [Broadlands], 
CLXVI.  [London], 
CLXVn.  [Broadlands], 
CLXVin.  Broadlands, 
CLXIX.  Oxford, 

CLXX.  [Oxford], 
CLXXI.  Herne  Hill, 
CLXXH.  Dolgelly, 
CLXXni.  Venice, 
CLXXIV.  Venice, 


12  October,  1874 

102 

[31  December], 

1874 

108 

27  January,  1875 

109 

13  February,  1875 

112 

25  March,  1875 

114 

15  July,  1875 

116 

17  September, 

1875 

118 

5  October,  1875 

120 

5  October,  1875 

121 

30  October,  1875 

121 

14  November, 

1875 

123 

14  December, 

1875 

124 

8  January,  1876 

125 

13  January,  1876 

126 

20  January,  1876 

127 

I  February,  1876 

128 

[22  February, 

1876] 

129 

I  March,  1876 

130 

20  April,  1876 

132 

2  August,  1876 

135 

5  October,  1876 

13S 

16  January,  1877 

141 

CONTENTS  ix 


CLXXV.  Brantwood,       31  July,  1877  144 
CLXXVI.  Brantwood,       17  February, 

1878  145 

CLXXVII.  Herne  Hill,    [23  July,  1878]  148 
CLXXVIII.  DuNiRA,  Crieff,  25  September, 

1878  150 
CLXXIX.  Brantwood,       26  November, 

1878  151 
CLXXX.  Brantwood,       25  February, 

1879  152 
CLXXXI.  Brantwood,       27  February, 

1879  153 

CLXXXII.  Brantwood,      [14  April],  1879  155 

CLXXXIII.  Brantwood,         4  June,  1879  ^57 

CLXXXIV.  Brantwood,         9  July,  1879  ^59 
CLXXXV.  Herne  Hill,        i  November, 

1879  159 

CLXXXVI.  Brantwood,       16  May,  1880  161 

CLXXXVII.  Brantwood,        20  January,  1881  162 

CLXXXVni.  Brantwood,        24  March,  1881  167 

CLXXXIX.  Brantwood,       26  April,  1881  168 

CXC.  Brantwood,       18  July,  1881  170 
CXCI.  Brantwood,        29  August, 

1881  171 
CXCn.  Brantwood,        15  October,  1881 

(From  L.  I. 

Hilliard)  171 


• 


X 


CONTENTS 


CXCIII. 

Brantwood, 

7  March,  1882 

(From  G. 

Collingwood) 

173 

CXCIV. 

AVALLON, 

30  August,  1882 

174 

cxcv. 

Sallenche, 

II  September, 

1882 

176 

CXCVI. 

Lucca, 

3  October,  1882 

179 

CXCVII. 

Lucca, 

16  October,  1882 

182 

CXCVIII. 

Pisa, 

5  November,  1882 

185 

CXCIX. 

Herne  Hill, 

I  January,  1883 

188 

cc. 

Oxford, 

10  March,  1883 

189 

CCI. 

Herne  Hill, 

15  March,  1883 

191 

ecu. 

Brantwood, 

16  April,  1883 

194 

CCIII. 

Oxford, 

19  June,  1883 

19s 

CCIV. 

Brantwood, 

24  June,  1883 

196 

ccv. 

Brantwood, 

28  July,  1883 

196 

CCVI. 

Brantwood, 

29  July,  1883 

198 

CCVII. 

Brantwood, 

2  August  [1883] 

199 

CCVIII. 

Brantwood, 

25  Februar)',  1884 

201 

CCIX. 

Brantwood, 

I  June,  1884 

203 

ccx. 

[London], 

7  October,  1884 

204 

CCXI. 

Canterbury, 

9  October,  1884 

205 

CCXII. 

Brantwood, 

2  January,  1885 

207 

CCXIII. 

Brantwood, 

I  October,  1885 

208 

CCXIV. 

Brantwood, 

20  October,  1885 

209 

ccxv. 

Brantwood, 

[28  April,  1886] 

210 

CCXVI. 

Brantwood, 

16  May,  1886 

211 

CONTENTS 


xi 


CCXVII.  Brantwood, 
CCXVIII.  Brantwood, 
CCXIX.  Brantwood, 
CCXX.  Brantwood, 

CCXXI.  Brantwood, 


24  June,  1886  212 

18  August,  1886  215 

28  August,  1886  215 
13  September, 

1886  217 

23  March,  1887  219 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

John  Ruskin       ....  Frontispiece 

Brantwood  70 

Sketch  in  Letter,  August  12,  1874  .  .  .  84 
Two  Drawings  in  Letter,  September  16,  1874  100 
CoNisTON  Hall  (with  Ivied  Chimneys)  opposite 

Brantwood  132 

Facsimile  of  Letter,  October  5,  1876  .  .  138 
Drawing  in  Letter,  October  3,  1882  .  .  180 
Facsimile   of    Second,  Third,  and  Fourth 

Pages  of  Letter,  November  5,  1882  .      .  186 


Ill  —  Continued 

1868-1873 


4 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


III  —  Continued 
1868-1873 

During  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1870 
my  home  was  in  one  of  the  spacious  old 
villas  near  Siena.  The  climate  was  delightful, 
the  city  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  pic- 
turesque of  the  many  Italian  cities  to  which 
these  terms  apply.  In  June  Ruskin  came, 
with  a  charming  party,  consisting  of  Miss 
Agnew,  Mrs.  H.  and  her  daughter,  to  spend 
some  days  with  us.  He  was  in  a  delightful 
mood ;  the  clouds  which  darkened  his  spirit 
had  lifted  for  the  moment,  and  all  its  sunshine 
and  sweetness  had  free  play.  He  spent  much 
time  in  drawing  the  lioness  and  her  cubs  at 
the  base  of  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  wonderful 
pulpit  in  the  wonderful  Cathedral.  We  wan- 
dered through  the  mediaeval  town,  we  drove 
and  walked  through  many  of  the  roads  and 


4        LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


paths  of  the  picturesque  region,  and  Ruskin 
enjoyed  to  the  full  all  the  loveliness  of  the 
Tuscan  landscape,  the  interest  of  its  historic 
associations,  and  the  charm  of  the  Italian  at- 
mosphere. No  guest  could  have  added  more 
to  the  pleasure  of  the  household. 

Venice,  Saturday,  17th  June  [1870]. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  have  just  got 
your  letter;  yes,  I  will  come  to  Siena.  I  have 
to  go  for  a  fortnight  up  into  Switzerland  with 
Joanna  and  our  friends  to  see  Alpine  roses. 
Then  I  '11  run  straight  south  to  you.  I  can- 
not write  more  to-day,  but  will  this  evening. 

It  seems  to  me  as  if  every  saving  power 
was  at  present  being  paralyzed,  or  stupefied, 
or  killed.  I  know,  too  well,  the  truth  of  what 
Dickens  told  you  of  the  coming  evil. 
Ever  your  affectionate 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Venice,  19th  June. 

My  dearest  Charles, —  I  knew  you  would 
deeply  feel  the  death  of  Dickens.  It  is  very 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  5 


frightful  to  me  —  among  the  blows  struck 
by  the  fates  at  worthy  men,  while  all  mis- 
chievous ones  have  ceaseless  strength.  The 
literary  loss  is  infinite  —  the  political  one 
I  care  less  for  than  you  do.  Dickens  was 
a  pure  modernist  —  a  leader  of  the  steam- 
whistle  party  par  excellence  —  and  he  had  no 
understanding  of  any  power  of  antiquity  ex- 
cept a  sort  of  jackdaw  sentiment  for  cathedral 
towers.  He  knew  nothing  of  the  nobler  power 
of  superstition — was  essentially  a  stage  man- 
ager, and  used  everything  for  effect  on  the 
pit.  His  Christmas  meant  mistletoe  and  pud- 
ding—  neither  resurrection  from  dead,  nor  ris- 
ing of  new  stars,  nor  teaching  of  wise  men,  nor 
shepherds.  His  hero  is  essentially  the  iron- 
master ;  in  spite  of  "  Hard  times,"  he  has  ad- 
vanced by  his  influence  every  principle  that 
makes  them  harder  —  the  love  of  excitement, 
in  all  classes,  and  the  fury  of  business  com- 
petition, and  the  distrust  both  of  nobility  and 
clergy  which,  wide  enough  and  fatal  enough, 
and  too  justly  founded,  needed  no  apostle  to 


6         LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


the  mob,  but  a  grave  teacher  of  priests  and 
nobles  themselves,  for  whom  Dickens  had 
essentially  no  word.  .  .  . 

Please  send  me  a  line  to  post  office  Lugano, 
saying  how  long  you  stay,  and  I  will  do  my 
best  to  come  as  soon  as  I  can,  if  your  "  sum- 
mer" means  not  quite  into  the  hot  months. 

My  faithful  love  to  you  all. 

Ever  your  affectionate 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Monday,  20th  Jiine. 

My  dearest  Charles, —  I  have  changed 
my  purpose,  suddenly,  and  am  going  to  make 
sure  of  seeing  you  at  once  —  though  I  can- 
not at  present  stay  —  but  for  many  reasons, 
chiefly  the  danger  of  losing  hold  of  what  I 
have  just  been  learning  here,  it  is  better  for 
me  not  to  stay  in  Italy,  but  to  go  home  quietly 
and  write  down  what  I  have  got  —  else  I 
should  learn  too  much,  and  get  nothing  said. 

Yes,  necessarily,  there  is  a  difference  in 
manner  between  writing  intended  for  a  pro- 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  7 


fessor's  class  and  that  meant  to  amuse  a 
popular  audience;  also,  I  hope  at  fifty  I  am 
mentally  stronger  than  at  twenty-five.  But 
the  pain  has  not  done  anything  for  me.  In- 
dignation has  sometimes — but  always  more 
harm  than  good,  the  now  quite  morbid  dis- 
like of  talking  being  one  result  of  it  very 
inconvenient  at  Oxford. 

I  shall  have  to  trespass  on  you  (ultimately 
I  do  not  doubt  you  will  be  glad  I  have)  by 
bringing  not  only  J.  and  C,  but  C.'s  good 
and  sweet  (and  infinitely  sensitive  in  all  right 
ways)  mother,  for  whom,  mainly,  I  made  all 
the  plans  of  this  journey;  a  most  refined  Eng- 
lish gentlewoman,  who  had  never  seen  Italy. 

But,  alas,  I  can't  stay  more  than  three  days 
at  the  utmost.  I  must  be  three  days  in  Flor- 
ence for  my  own  work.  I  shall  take  those  at 
once,  at  the  Grande  Bretagne,  before  coming 
to  you.  Ever  your  loving 

John  Ruskin. 

I  am  very  glad  the  Medusa  is  not  Leo- 
nardo's, but  I  speak  of  his  temper  from  gen- 


8        LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


eral  examination  of  his  drawings.  I  never 
remember  seeing  his  signature,  except  as 
"  Lionardo."  Why  do  you  like  "  e  "  better  ? 

29  Juncy  1870. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  It 's  no  use  try- 
ing to  write  thanks,  or  good-byes,  but  here 's 
what  I  wrote  yesterday  for  heads  of  talk  about 
Lippi  —  for  J.'s  satisfaction  if  any  may  be,  out 
of  me,  just  now  :  — 

1.  Laying  on  of  gold  as  paint,  for  light,  all 
exquisite  —  none  lost. 

2.  Chiaroscuro  perfect,  when  permitted. 

3.  Faces  all  in  equal  daylight  —  conven- 
tional. 

4.  No  unquiet  splendor  in  accessaries. 

5.  Essential  colour  as  fine  as  Correggio. 

6.  Expressional  character  the  best  in  the 
world  —  individual  character  feeble,  but 
lovely. 

7.  Essential  painting  as  good  as  Titian  in 
his  early  time. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  9 


8.  Form,  in  invention,  perfect;  in  know- 
ledge and  anatomy,  false. 

9.  Colour  in  invention  very  feeble;  in  sen- 
timent exquisite. 

There  —  and  I 've  seen  the  Strozzi  Titian 
—  and  it 's  Beyond  everything,  and  I 'm 

Ever  yours,  J.  R. 

Bellinzona,  Thursday,  8th  July. 

My  DEAREST  Charles,  —  I  find  here  your 
long  and  interesting  letter  of  June  20th.  .  .  . 

I  quite  feel  all  that  you  say  of  Dickens,  and 
of  his  genius,  or  benevolence,  no  one,  I  be- 
lieve, ever  has  spoken,  or  will  speak,  more 
strongly  than  I.  You  will  acquit  me,  I  know, 
of  jealousy ;  you  will  not  agree  with  me  in  my 
acknowledgment  of  his  entire  superiority  to 
me  in  every  mental  quahty  but  one  —  the 
desire  of  truth  without  exaggeration.  It  is 
my  stern  desire  to  get  at  the  pure  fact  and 
nothing  less  or  more,  which  gives  me  what- 
ever power  I  have ;  it  is  Dickens's  delight  in 
grotesque  and  rich  exaggeration  which  has 


lo       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


made  him,  I  think,  nearly  useless  in  the  pre- 
sent day.  I  do  not  believe  he  has  made  any 
one  more  good  natured.  1  think  all  his  finest 
touches  of  sympathy  are  absolutely  undis- 
covered by  the  British  public ;  but  his  mere 
caricature,  his  liberalism,  and  his  calling  the 
Crystal  palace  "  Fairyland "  have  had  fatal 
effect  —  and  profound.  .  .  . 

I  believe  Dickens  to  be  as  little  understood 
as  Cervantes,  and  almost  as  mischievous. 

We  had  a  lovely  day  at  Padua,  and  I  see 
Mantegna  with  ever  increasing  admiration. 
(By  the  way,  on  the  4th  we  all  drank  to  the 
prosperity  of  America  —  I  recommending 
Mrs.  H.  to  put  her  good  wishes  for  it  into 
the  form  of  the  prayer  in  the  Litany  for 
"fatherless  children  and  widows,  and  all  that 
are  desolate  and  oppressed.")  Then  some 
Luini  study  at  Milan,  Como,  and  Lugano, 
and  such  a  drive  from  Lugano  here  as  I 
think  never  was  driven  by  mortal  before,  for 
beauty. 

I  fear  I  must  close  this  before  I  get  yours 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  ii 


—  if  there  is  one,  but  will  write  again  from 
the  Giesbach.  Love  to  you  all  from  all  of  us. 
Ever  your  loving 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Giesbach,  12th  July^  1870. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  We  have  been 
travelling  so  fast  that  I  have  had  no  time  to 
look  at  anything  in  my  folios.  I  have  now 
been  examining  your  present  of  the  "  Man- 
tegnas  "  very  carefully,  and  must  again  thank 
you  for  it  most  earnestly.  I  have  never  seen 
more  wonderful  or  instructive  work  —  the 
richness  of  its  life  and  strength,  and  utter 
masterfulness  of  hand,  surpass  all  I  know 
of  this  kind.  What  a  strange  hardness  and 
gloom  pervades  it  all,  nevertheless,  and  what 
a  strange  element  of  Italian  character  this  is, 
in  Sandro  Botticelli,  and  even  in  the  Pisani, 
partly,  also. 

I  feel  that  I  have  left  Italy  too  soon  for 
my  purposes,  and  I  must  come  back  in  the 
autumn  for  a  few  weeks.  I  shall  most  likely 


12       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


run  down  to  you,  if  you  are  still  at  Siena,  and 
finish  my  lioness  and  cubs,  who  are  not  at  all 
what  I  want,  yet,  and  show  Eliot  one  or  two 
things  I  promised  and  did  not.  .  .  . 

Ever  your  affectionate 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Denmark  Hill,  29th  July,  1870. 

My  dearest  Charles, — .  .  .  The  war  is 
very  awful  to  me :  being  as  I  think  all  men's 
fault  as  much  as  the  emperor's ;  certainly  as 
much  Prussia's  and  England's. 

Paris  looks  infinitely  sad,  but  I  took  Mrs. 
H.,  J.,  C,  and  C.'s  two  brothers  to  the  theatre 
(Comedie  Fran9aise),  and  we  heard  the  Mar- 
seillaise sung  about  as  w^ell  as  it  could  be. 
The  cry  of  the  audience,  "  a  genoux,"  at  the 
last  verse,  was  very  touching. 

C.  was  singing  the  Marseillaise  all  the 
way  to  Boulogne  at  the  top  of  her  pretty 
voice,  to  my  no  small  discomfiture,  who  was 
reading  Sainte-Beuve's  "  Etude  sur  Virgile," 
which  is  very  nice  as  far  as  it  reaches,  curi- 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  13 


ously  shortened  in  its  reach  by  the  writer's 
never  for  a  moment  admitting  to  himself  the 
possibility  of  a  True,  as  well  as  an  Ideal, 
spirit,  or  God. 

I  have  been  endeavoring  this  morning  to 
define  the  limits  of  insanity.  My  experience 
is  not  yet  wide  enough :  I  have  been  entirely 
insane,  as  far  as  I  know,  only  about  Turner 
and  Rose,  and  I 'm  tired ;  and  have  made 
out  nothing  satisfactory. 

All  the  grass  burnt  up  everywhere  — 
drought  like  Elijah's,  and  priests  of  Baal 
everywhere  with  nobody  to  kill  them.  My 
mother  is  wonderfully  well,  but  home  is  very 
sad,  and  I  have  n't  got  my  pups  at  Siena  half 
as  well  as  I  thought  I  had. 

Please  write  a  line  to  me  often.  I  am  anx- 
ious about  you.      Ever  your  loving 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Denmark  Hill,  7th  August,  1870. 

My  DEAREST  Charles,  —  Your  letter  and 
the  photographs,  which  are  delightful,  arrived 


14       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


last  night ;  it  is  better  to  send  some  little  word 
of  answer  at  once  ...  to  your  two  questions 
about  Turner.  His  "  I  have  been  cruelly 
treated "  was  reported  to  me  by  his  friend 
Mr.  Griffith  (who  was  much  with  him  before 
his  death)  as  having  been  said  one  day  almost 
without  consciousness  of  speaking  aloud,  as 
he  was  looking  sorrowfully  at  the  pictures 
then  exhibiting  at  Pallmall,  from  his  gallery, 
everybody  admiring  them  too  late.  The 
other  saying  came  from  an  unquestionable 
quarter.  Mr.  Kingsley's  cousin  was  in  Tur- 
ner's own  gallery  with  him.  They  came  to 
the  "  Crossing  the  Brook ; "  a  piece  of  paint 
out  of  the  sky,  as  large  as  a  fourpenny  piece, 
was  lying  on  the  floor.  Kingsley  picked  it  up, 
and  said,  "  Have  you  noticed  this?"  "No," 
said  Turner.  "  How  can  you  look  at  the  pic- 
ture and  see  it  so  injured  ?"  said  Kingsley. 
"  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  answered  Turner, 
"  the  only  use  of  the  thing  is  to  recall  the 
impression."  Of  course  it  was  false,  but  he 
was  then  thinking  of  himself  only,  having 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  15 


long  given  up  the  thought  of  being  cared  for 
by  the  public. 

It  was  very  curious  your  reading  Ste.- 
Beuve's  *'  Virgil "  with  me.  You  will  have 
seen  by  the  lectures  already  that  I  feel  as 
strongly  as  he,  and  much  more  strongly.  (I 
like  Ste.-Beuve  much,  and  see  why  you  spoke 
of  his  style  as  admirable ;  but  he  is  altogether 
shallow  and  therefore  may  easily  keep  his 
agitation  at  ripple-level.  Please  compare  his 
translation  of  Homer's  Eolus  at  p.  204  with 
mine  in  "  Queen  of  Air,"  p.  22,  and  see 
how  he  has  missed  the  mythic  sense  of  the 
feasting,  and  put  in  "  viandes  savoreuses " 
out  of  his  head,  not  understanding  why 
Homer  made  the  house  misty).  But  for  "  Vir- 
gil," all  you  say  of  him  is  true  —  but  through 
and  under  all  that  there  is  a  depth  and  per- 
fectness  that  no  man  has  reached  but  he; 
just  as  that  Siena  arabesque,  though  in  a  bad 
style,  is  insuperable,  so  Virgil,  in  (not  a 
bad,  but)  a  courtly  and  derivative  style,  has 
sterling  qualities  the  most  rare. 


i6       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Thank  you  for  writing  what  you  had  told 
me,  but  what  I  am  only  too  glad  to  have 
written,  of  Cervantes.  I  will  look  at  the  two 
parts  carefully. 

Yes,  I  '11  write  often  now,  little  words  to 
tell  you  what  I  am  feeling,  and  trying  to  do. 
Loving  memory  to  you  all. 

Ever  your  grateful 

J.  RUSKIN. 

9th  August,  '70. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  did  not,  in  my 
last  letter,  enter  at  all  on  my  real  meaning  in 
saying  "  Don  Quixote  "  was  mischievous,  and 
I  want  you  to  know  it.' 

I  never  discerned  the  difference  you  point 
out  between  the  parts.  But  /  read  the  whole 
as  the  first,  not  as  the  last.  It  always  affected 
me  throughout  with  tears,  not  laughter. 
It  was  always  throughout,  real  chivalry  to 
me  ;  and  it  is  precisely  because  the  most 
touching  valour  and  tenderness  are  rendered 
vain  by  madness,  and  because,  thus  vain, 

»  See  letter  of  July  Sth. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  17 


they  are  made  a  subject  of  laughter  to  vulgar 
and  shallow  persons,  and  because  all  true 
chivalry  is  thus  by  implication  accused  of 
madness,  and  involved  in  shame,  that  I  call 
the  book  so  deadly. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  R. 

Sunday  Morning,  14th  August,  '70. 

My  dearest  Charles,  — ...  I  got  yester- 
day in  London  a  —  guess  what  1  "  Roman  de 
la  Rose,"  of  about  1380,  with  beautiful  little 
dark  gray  vignettes.  Very  typical  of  the 
course  of  all  my  Roman,  and  therefore  ex- 
quisitely sweet  in  feeling  —  not  particularly 
wise  in  execution.  But  they  are  so  pretty, 
the  Dieu  d'Amour,  with  a  Httle  stiff  crown 
and  his  hair  coming  out  in  crockets  like 
Richard  the  H.  It  is  perfect  from  end  to 
end,  and  in  the  French  form  Chaucer  must 
have  read  it  in  (I  had  to  give  £200  for  it! 
and  feel  very  much  ashamed  of  myself). 

Look  here — will  you  please,  when  next  you 


i8       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


go  into  Siena,  look  at  the  bosses  of  the  dragon 
panel  of  pulpit  at  the  corners  and  tell  me  if 
this  one  '  is  indeed  flatter  than  the  other 
three,  or  has  had  its  central  boss  broken 
away  ?     Ever  your  loving 

J.  R. 

Morning,  17th  August. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  was  looking  for 
accounts  of  thunder  this  morning,  and  took 
your  despised  Virgil.  N.B. —  Behind  me  in  my 
own  special  bookcase  I  have  only  two  books, 

—  Burmann's  Virgil  and  the  large  "  della 
Crusca  Dante,"  with  Longfellow's  translation 
beside  it  (Europe  and  America).  Well,  Bur- 
mann's Virgil  (get  this  edition,  Amsterdam, 
1746;  it  is  every  way  so  useful  with  its  se- 
rious notes  and  full  index)  has,  on  two  of  its 
pages,  the  441st  to  the  456th  line  of  JEx\.  8th 

—  ending  with  the  456th.^ 

'  Here  a  hasty  sketch. 

^  The  verses  referred  to  are  as  follows  :  — 

Arma  acri  facienda  viro :  nunc  viribus  usus, 
Nunc  manibus  rapidis,  omni  nunc  arte  magistra.  - 
Praecipitate  moras.  Nec  plura  effatus :  at  illi 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  19 

Please  read  those  very  slowly  —  stopping 
first  at  the  453rd,  and  going  over  the  441st 
to  that,  again  and  again,  till  you  have  got 
them  thoroughly  into  your  ears  and  mind. 

Ocius  incubuere  omnes,  pariterque  laborem 
445  Sortiti.  Fluit  aes  vivis,  aurique  metallum, 

Volnificusque  chalybs  vasta  fornace  liquescit. 
Ingentem  clypeum  informant,  unum  omnia  contra 
Tela  Latinorum  ;  septenosque  orbibus  orbes 
Inpediunt.  Alii  ventosis  follibus  auras 
450  Accipiunt  redduntque ;  alii  stridentia  tingunt 
Aera  lacu.  Gemit  impositis  incudibus  antrum. 
Uli  inter  sese  multa  vi  brachia  tollunt 
In  numerum,  versantque  tenaci  forcipe  massam. 
Haec  pater  Aeoliis  properat  dum  Lemnius  oris, 
455  Evandrum  ex  humili  tecto  lux  suscitat  alma, 
Et  matutini  volucrum  sub  culmine  cantus. 

If  there  were  other  reason  for  the  selection  of  these  special 
verses  for  study,  than  the  vivid  picture  they  present,  and  the 
charm  of  the  contrast  between  the  toil  and  noise  with  which 
the  cave  resounds,  and  the  smoky  glare  which  fills  it,  with 
the  quiet  of  Evander's  hut,  and  the  clear  light  of  dawn,  and 
the  morning  song  of  the  birds,  I  must  leave  the  reader  to 
discover  it.  —  I  cannot  recall  what  led  Ruskin  to  speak  of 
"  your  despised  Virgil."  The  epithet  does  not  match  with  the 
admiration  which  the  perfection  of  Virgil's  art  inspires,  or 
with  the  personal  sympathy  which  the  peculiar  depth  and 
delicacy  and  tenderness  of  his  sentiment  often  evokes.  Per- 
haps I  had  spoken  of  the  lack  in  him  of  the  high  powers  of 
the  imagination  which  the  two  or  three  poets  possessed  who, 
each  in  his  own  heaven  of  invention, 

sopra  gli  altri  com'  aquila  vola. 


20      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Then  go  on  and  read  the  last  three,  454  to 
456,  very  slowly  alsp. 

Ever  your  loving, 

J.  R. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  have  your 
beautiful  letter  to-day,  about  Don  Quixote, 
etc.  I  *m  just  beginning  to-day,  seriously,  my 
autumn  course  of  lectures,  which  are  to  be  on 
Greek  coins,  with  the  Tortoise  of  Egina, 
and  I 'm  in  my  writing  element  again,  and 
almost  happy,  chiefly  because  I  heard  the  day 
before  yesterday  that  somebody  else  was  very 
^^^happy.  (Did  you  ever  think  there  was  such 
monstrousness  in  me  ?) 

That  is  indeed  an  important  mistake  about 
the  bag.'  Of  course  these  stories  are  all  first 
fixed  in  my  mind  by  my  boy's  reading  of 
Pope — then  I  read  in  the  Greek  rapidly  to 

'  In  the  Queen  of  the  Air  (i.  19)  Ruskin,  writing  of  the 
myth  of  i^^olus,  said,  "-<41olus  gives  them  [the  winds]  to 
Ulysses,  all  but  one,  bound  in  a  leathern  bag."  But  it 
was  only  "the  blustering  winds,"  $vKTda>v  ave/iotv  KfXevda  (-Od. 
X.  20)  that  ^olus  had  tied  up. 


V 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  21 


hunt  out  the  points  I  want  to  work  on,  and 
am  always  Hable  to  miss  an  immaterial  point. 
But  it  is  strange  that  I  hardly  ever  get  any- 
thing stated  without  some  grave  mistake, 
however  true  in  my  main  discoveries. 

That  use  of  KVLcrcrrjev  '  is  precisely  the  most 
delicious  thing  in  the  myth  —  it  is  that  which 
makes  it  an  enigma.  Had  Homer  used  any 
other  word  than  that  he  would  have  shown 
his  cards  in  a  moment  —  which  he  never 
does,  nor  any  other  of  the  big  fellows.  Yet 
it  ought  at  once  to  lead  you  to  the  mythic 
meaning  when  you  remember  that  meat 
smoke  is  precisely  what  winds  would  carry 
away  —  that  the  house  being  full  of  the  smell 
of  dinner  is  precisely  the  Unwindiest  char- 
acter you  could  have  given  it.  Well,  that 
ought  to  set  you  considering :  and  then  you 
will  see  that  while  the  Calm  cloud  is  high  in 
heaven,  the  Wind  cloud  rises  up  from  the 
earth,  and  is  actually  the  Steam  of  it,  under 

'  In  the  description  of  the  house  of  ^olus,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  tenth  book  of  the  Odyssey. 


22       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


the  beneficent  Cookery  of  the  winds,  which 
make  it  good  for  food.  "  Thy  Dwelling  shall 
be  of  the  Dew  of  Heaven,  and  of  the  fatness 
of  the  Earth." 

My  long  training  in  Hebrew  myths  had  at 
least  the  advantage  of  giving  this  habit  of  al- 
ways looking  for  the  under-thought,  and  then 
my  work  on  physical  phenomena  just  gave 
nje  what  other  commentators,  scholars  only, 
can  never  have,  the  sight  of  what  Homer  saw. 

I  bought  a  picture  by  Holman  Hunt  this 
year,  of  a  Greek  sunset,  with  all  the  Homeric 
colours  in  the  sky  —  and  the  KVLcro-rjei/  cloud 
just  steaming  up  from  the  hills,  so  exactly 
true  that  everybody  disbelieves  its  being  true 
at  all.  Then  I  found  out  the  Piping  and 
Fluting  from  the  Pindaric  ode  which  de- 
scribes Athena  making  the  Pan's  pipe  out  of 
Medusa's  hair.  You  '11  be  aghast  at  the  lot 
of  things  I 've  got  together  about  Egina,  but 
they  are  so  pretty,  the  whole  story  of  the 
i^acidae  and  Myrmidons  and  ever  so  much 
political   economy  —  with   the  Phoenician 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  23 


Aphrodite  to  soften  it  all  into  correggiosity 
of  Correggio. 

Ever  your  ridiculous  and  loving, 

JR. 

oveLara  is  a  perfectly  heavenly  word  —  it 
means  the  benefit  of  well  digested  anything ; 
all  my  books  are  oveLara —  it  means  a  dinner 
ate  imaginatively — vlov  eV  dcr(j)6SeXo)  —  the 
Barmecides'  dinner  sometimes. 

Look  at  Liddell's  last  reference  to  the 
Homeric  Hymns  : 

Arj  fnjTT)  p 

rj8v  KaTaiTveiovcra,  Ka\  iv  k6\ttoi(tiv  e^ovcra  .  .  . 
ddapdroLSydvrjTol*;  r  oveiap  /cat  x^Pf^cL  reru/crat. 

Denmark  Hill,  26th  August,  '70. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  Your  little  Siena 
picture  and  my  bas-relief,  which  I 'm  de- 
lighted with,  came  a  week  ago. 

Yoiir  absurdest  of  all  conceivable,  and  very 
charming  letter  came  the  night  before  last.  I 
was  too  much  astonished  to  answer.  And  the 
photograph  of  my  Florence  door  came  last 


24      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


night,  and  so  I  must  answer,  to  say  it 's  the 
very  thing  I  want,  and  I 'm  ever  so  grateful. 

You  '11  never  make  me  miserable  any  more 
by  thinking  you  may  be  right  and  Carlyle 
wrong,  after  all,  when  I  see  how  you  misread 
this  French  war  ;  this  war  is,  on  the  one  side, 
the  French,  the  purest  and  intensest  repub- 
licanism (choosing  a  fool  for  a  leader,  and 
able  to  kick  him  off  when  it  likes)  joined 
to  vanity,  lust,  and  lying  —  against,  on  the 
German  side,  a  Personal,  Hereditary,  Feudal 
government  as  stern  as  Barbarossa's,  with  a 
certain  human  measure  of  modesty,  decency, 
and  veracity,  in  its  people. 

And  dear  old  Carlyle  —  how  thankful  I 
am  that  he  did  his  Friedrich  exactly  at  the 
right  time !  It 's  the  likest  thing  to  a  Provi- 
dence I 've  known  this  many  a  year,  except 
my  getting  the  "  Roman  de  la  Rose." 

You  're  more  absurd  about  that  than  even 
about  the  French  —  but  it 's  of  no  use  talking. 

Were  n't  you  pleased  when  the  photograph 
of  the  Pisano  Lions  came,  to  see  how  piti- 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  25 


ful  it  was,  compared  even  to  that  rude  sketch 
of  mine  ?  —  and  that  we  poor  draughtsmen  are 
still  worth  our  salt  ? 

I 'm  in  hopes  of  bringing  out  enough  from 
the  Greek  coins  to  make  you  not  sorry  I  stay 
at  home.  I  wish  I  were  with  you,  but  that 's 
all  "  Roman  "  —  put  it  out  of  your  head. 
Ever  affectionately  yours, 

J.  R. 

()th  September^  1870. 

My  dearest  Charles, — I  don't  know  if  any 
letters  are  likely  to  reach  you  just  now.  Have 
you  got  mine  on  ^olus  and  fat  smoke  1 1  have 
two  kind  ones  from  you.  .  .  . 

A  letter  you  sent  to  me  in  March  on 
Michael  Angelo  is  of  great  value.  (It  quotes 
Lucretius  tantum  religio,  but  you  are  not  to 
pity  me  out  of  Lucretius,  whom  I  much  dis- 
like). I  am  greatly  sorry  not  to  be  with  you. 
But  you  may  be  pleased  for  one  reason.  Had 
I  come  back  to  Italy,  I  might  never  have 
taken  up  my  broken   Greek  work  again, 


26      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


whereas  this  has  thrown  me  back  on  it,  mak- 
ing not  only  my  past  labour  of  service,  but 
laying  a  more  formal  foundation  for  all.  But 
I 'm  very  weary  and  sad.  Joan  is  gone  away 
—  and  the  evenings'  sitting  beside  my  mother 
only  makes  me  sadder  still.  .  .  .  Love  to 
you  all. 

Ever  your  affectionate 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Cowley  Rectory,  Uxbridge,  30M  Sept.  1870. 

My  dearest  Charles,  — .  .  .  Thanks  for 
reference  to  Boutmy.'  I  was  glad  you  named 
it,  for  I  had  picked  it  up  at  a  railway  stall,  and 
read  it  with  attention,  and  was  wondering, 
till  I  got  your  letter,  whether  it  represented 
average  French  criticism,  or  was  really  what 
it  appeared  to  me  —  a  work  of  separate  merit. 
It  is  very  good,  and  suggestive  from  its  French 
point  of  view,  but  very  narrow  and  shallow.  It 
is  most  interesting  in  the  utter  incapability 
of  the  Frenchman  to  penetrate  the  solemnity 

^  Philosophic  de  V Architecture  e?i  Grlce,  par  fimile  Boutmy. 
Paris,  1870.  • 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  27 


of  Greek  thought.  The  quantity  of  pain  that 
I  have  myself  actually  suffered  has  been 
greatly  useful  to  me  in  this  respect,  and  it  has 
not  been  less  useful  because  in  many  ways 
my  own  fault  or  folly.  I  know  in  every  shadow 
the  meaning  of  the  word  Molpa. 

Its  analysis  of  the  Parthenon  is  exactly 
the  kind  of  thing  I  used  to  do,  of  separate 
buildings  that  I  had  closely  studied  —  igno- 
rant of  others.  I  could  write  a  similar  essay 
on  any  good  building  whatsoever,  and  show 
it  to  be  alone  in  the  world  —  from  the  great 
Pyramid  to  Chartres  ;  and  the  reason  that  my 
Greek  work  is  so  imperfect  now  is  precisely 
because  I  did  no^  begin  with  it,  but  have 
reached  it  and  worked  it  into  a  complete,  or 
nearly  so,  panorama  of  methods  of  art.  I 
think  when  you  see  what  I  am  doing,  even 
now,  for  Oxford  this  year,  you  will  admit  it 
to  be  of  more  value  than  any  existing  state- 
ment of  Greek  style;  and  that  while  other 
people  could,  and  will,  do  as  good  or  better 
work  than  I  in  mediaeval  study,  no  one  but  I 


28       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


could  have  put  true  life  into  those  dead  Greek 
forms. 

You  yourself  know  more  than  I  (in  many- 
points)  of  mediaeval  art  —  and  incomparably 
more  than  I  of  mediaeval  literature,  but  as 
soon  as  you  have  a  little  more  confidence  in 
me,  you  will  find  me  opening  out  much  both 
new  and  firm  ground  to  you  in  the  classics.  In 
both  fields  I  am  but  a  gleaner  and  guesser  — 
but  I  can  understand  Diomed's  mind,  or  Dio- 
genes's,  infinitely  better  than  I  can  a  Vene- 
tian soldier  s  or  a  Florentine  monk's. 

Love  to  you  all. 

Ever  your  affectionate 

John  Ruskin. 

loth  November,  1870. 

My  DEAREST  Charles, — .  .  .  I  am  busy 
on  my  work.  I  wish  that  wanted  less  mend- 
ing, after  first  draught  of  it  —  the  patching 
is  most  of  the  business. 

The  third  lecture,  on  colored  sculpture, 
will  be  amusing,  I  think.  I  enlarge  first  one 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  29 


of  the  fish  from  those  little  ivory  Japan  cir- 
clets you  bought  for  me  at  Paris,  then,  saying 
simply  that  for  execution  it  is  an  ideal  of  true 
Greek  ideal  of  sculpture,  I  give  beside  the 
fish  profile  the  profile  of  the  self-made  man 
from  Punch,  —  enlarged  also  to  bas-relief 
size,  and  then  a  Greek  Apollo  beside  both, 
to  show  them  how  all  real  design  depends 
on  1/01)9  Tcov  7^110)7 droiv.  A  great  deal  comes 
out  nicely,  as  I  work  on.  .  .  . 

C  and  her  mamma  came  last  week  to 

help  Joan  to  give  a  party  —  Dance!  I  went, 

with  C  to  the  dressmaker's  a  month  ago 

and  got  her  first  low  dress,  and  she  wore  it 
for  the  first  time  at  Joan's  party,  and  looked 
lovely.  Meantime,  I  had  gone  to  a  dinner 
of  the  Metaphysical  Society,  where  Huxley 
was  to  read  a  paper  on  a  Frog's  soul  —  or 
appearances  of  soul.  The  Deans  of  Westmin- 
ster and  Canterbury,  Bishop  of  Worcester, 
Master  of  Lincoln,  Duke  of  Argyll,  Arch- 
bishop Manning,  Father  Dal —  something, 
who  said  the  shrewdest  things  of  any,  and 


30       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Chancellor  of  Exchequer  (who  only  made 
jokes)  might  have  made  a  nice  talk  of  it,  but 
the  Duke  of  Argyll  got  into  logical  antago- 
nisms with  Huxley,  and  then  nothing  came 
of  it.  I  wanted  to  change  the  frog  for  a  toad 
—  and  to  tell  the  company  something  about 
eyes  —  but  Huxley  would  n't  let  himself  be 
taken  beyond  legs,  for  that  time.  I  came  back 
impressed  more  than  ever  with  the  frivolous 
pugnacity  of  the  world,  —  the  campaign  in 
France  not  more  tragic  in  reality  of  signi- 
ficance, than  the  vain  dispute  over  that 
table.  .  .  . 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Shortest  Day,  1870. 

My  dearest  Charles,  — ...  I  am  giddy, 
a  little,  with  overwork,  or  I  would  tell  you 
something  of  lectures.  They  did  not  come 
out  half  what  I  wanted ;  the  days  seemed  to 
melt  into  nothing  at  last. 

England  has  been  bad  for  me,  this  time, 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  31 


but  I  won't  live  in  a  mere  cobweb  of  fate  any 
more. 

I  '11  send  you  some  pamphlets,  or  the  like, 
soon. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  R. 

Oxford,  23rd  February  ^  '71. 

.  .  ,  I  am  setting  to  my  work  here,  reck- 
lessly, to  do  my  best  with  it,  feeling  quite 
that  it  is  talking  at  hazard,  for  what  chance 
good  may  come.  But  I  attend  regularly  in  the 
schools  as  mere  drawing-master,  and  the  men 
begin  to  come  one  by  one  —  about  fifteen  or 
twenty  already,  —  several  worth  having  as 
pupils  in  any  way,  being  of  temper  to  make 
good  growth  of. 

I  am  living  in  a  country  inn,  or,  rather, 
country-town  inn,  the  Crown  and  Thistle 
of  Abingdon,  and  drive  in,  six  miles,  to  Ox- 
ford every  day  but  Sunday — two  days  every 
week  being  statedly  in  the  schools  —  and  con- 
tingently there  or  in  the  Bodleian  on  others. 


32       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


This  seems  to  put  an  end,  abruptly,  to  all 
Denmark  Hill  life. 

[Denmark  Hill]  3rd  April,  '71. 
...  I  have  had  much  disturbed  work  at 
Oxford,  and  coming  home  a  few  days  ago  for 
rest,  my  poor  old  Annie  dies  suddenly,  and 
I 've  just  buried  her  to-day,  within  (sight  of!) 
her  bid  master's  grave.  It  is  very  wonderful 
to  me  that  those  two,  who  loved  me  so  much, 
should  not  be  able  to  see  me  any  more.' 

*  Anne,  or  Annie,  as  she  was  indifferently  called,  was  an 
important  and  characteristic  member  of  the  Denmark  Hill 
household,  one  of  the  wheels  on  which  it  ran  its  steady 
course.  In  1873  Ruskin  wrote  of  her  in  Fors  Clavigera^  Let- 
ter xxviii,  words  which  he  repeated  twelve  years  later  in  the 
first  number  of  Prceterita,  and  which,  because  of  my  pleasant 
memories  of  her  keen  inspection  and  kind  old-fashioned  at- 
tentions to  me  as  her  master's  friend,  when  I  was  at  Denmark 
Hill,  I  am  glad  to  reprint  here.  "  Among  the  people  whom 
one  must  miss  out  of  one's  life,  dead,  or  worse  than  dead, 
by  the  time  one  is  past  fifty,  I  can  only  say  for  my  own  part, 
that  the  one  I  practically  and  truly  miss  most,  next  to  my 
father  and  mother,  ...  is  this  Anne,  my  father's  nurse  and 
mine.  .  .  .  From  her  girlhood  to  old  age,  the  entire  ability  of 
her  life  was  given  to  serving  us.  She  had  a  natural  gift  and 
speciality  for  doing  disagreeable  things,"  not  so  much  things 
disagreeable  to  others  as  those  which  others  found  disagree- 
able to  do  for  themselves.  She  was  altogether  occupied 
from  the  age  of  fifteen  to  seventy-two,  in  doing  other  people's 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  33 


At  Oxford,  having  been  Professor  a  year 
and  a  half,  I  thought  it  time  to  declare  open 
hostilities  with  Kensington,  and  requested 
the  Delegates  to  give  me  a  room  for  a  sepa- 
rate school  on  another  system.  They  went 
with  me  altogether,  and  I  am  going  to  furnish 
my  new  room  with  coins,  books,  catalogued 
drawings  and  engravings,  and  your  Greek 
vases ; '  the  mere  fitting  will  cost  me  three  or 
four  hundred  pounds.  Then  I 'm  going  to 
found  a  Teachership  under  the  Professorship 
—  on  condition  of  the  teaching  being  on  such 
and  such  principles,  and  this  whole  spring  I 
must  work  hard  to  bring  all  my  force  well  to 
bear,  and  show  what  I  can  do. 

It  is  very  sad  that  I  cannot  come  to  Venice, 
but  everything  is  infinitely  sad  to  me  —  this 
black  east  wind  for  three  months  most  of  all. 
Of  all  the  things  that  oppress  me,  this  sense 
of  the  evil  working  of  nature  herself  —  my 

wills  instead  of  her  own,  and  seeking  other  people's  good 
instead  of  her  own."  Anne  was  no  saint,  but  few  saints  have 
deserved  as  she  did  such  a  tribute. 

*  Vases  which  I  had  obtained  in  Italy  for  him. 


34      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


disgust  at  her  barbarity  —  clumsiness  — 
darkness  —  bitter  mockery  of  herself  —  is  the 
most  desolating.  I  am  very  sorry  for  my  old 
nurse,  but  her  death  is  ten  times  more  hor- 
rible to  me  because  the  sky  and  blossoms  are 
Dead  also. 

1 8th  May. 

My  dearest  Charles, —  The  Fortune  has 
come.  She  is  enough  to  change  mine,  for  life 
—  the  Greek  darling — and  a  globe  made  of 
Hexagons.  And  the  vases,  the  thirty,  not  one 
broken  and  every  one  lovelier  than  the  last. 
What  can  I  send  you  for  such  a  gift '  (and  the 
very  thing  I  wanted  in  the  nick  of  time)  ? 

It 's  late  afternoon,  and  I  have  to  go  out 
and  can  only  send  this.  I 'm  better,  but  I 've 
so  much  on  my  mind  just  now  —  among  other 
things  I 'm  going  to  give  ;^5000  of  stock  to 
found  a  sub-mastership  of  drawing  at  Ox- 
ford, and  to-day  I 've  been  painting  the  white 
Florentine  lily  for  him  to  teach  with. 

»  Not  a  gift  in  the  usual  sense. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  35 


I  '11  send  you  something  of  catalogues  that 
will  please  you  soon. 

Ever  your  grateful 

J.  RuSKIN, 
Broadlands,  28th  May,  '71.  ^ 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  have  your  little 
note  about  Titians,  Tintorets,  etc.  I  am  so 
glad  you  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  get 
those  Tintorets  —  they  are  worth  anything. 
I  fear  /  cannot  afford  to  buy  anything 
more,  so  set  am  I  now  on  my  political  work, 
as  far  as  money  is  concerned,  for  my  main 
actual  work  is  all  in  art  now,  but  I  can't  do 
the  tenth  part  of  what  I  plan  ;  above  all  I 
cant  get  things  printed  ;  I 've  nine  lectures 
full  of  good  work,  all  but  ready,  and  can't  get 
them  into  final  form. 

But  I  hope  you  '11  see  news  of  me  in  the 
papers,  in  mid  June,  at  Oxford.  You  have 
my  joyful  note  over  the  Greek  girl  and  the 
vases,  I  hope  —  they  are  quite  priceless  to  me. 
Domestic  matters  very  bad  with  me.  My 


36       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


mother  steadily  declining —  I  obliged  to  leave 
her  in  patient  solitude  sinking  towards  less 
and  less  possibility  of  pleasure  or  exertion. 
I  am  here  with  the  (f)LXr)'  to  whom  the  book 
is  dedicated,  which  I  hope  you  will  receive 
either  with  this  or  by  next  post.  .  .  . 

Business  matters  heavy  on  me,  too.  I  want 
to  found  an  under-mastership  at  Oxford  be- 
fore June,  and  I  can't  sell  the  houses  I  want 
to  found  it  with.  And  altogether !  Forgive 
me  when  I  don't  write.  My  hand  is  so  weary 
and  heart  so  sick —  but  ever 

Lovingly  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 
Denmark  Hill,  loth  Augjist,  1871. 

My  DEAREST  Charles,  — ...  I  have  to 
thank  you  for  your  letter  on  Michael  An- 
gelo,  but  I  think  I  must  have  missed  one 
since,  for  I  am  nearly  certain  you  must  have 
written  after  reading  my  Lecture  to  say  that 
you  were  pleased  at  our  feeling  so  exactly 
alike. 

*  Lady  Mount-Temple.  The  book  was  Sesame  and  Lilies. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  37 


I  am  much  better/  but  my  mother  is  so 
very  feeble  that  I  cannot  in  the  least  say 
whether  there  is  any  chance  of  my  getting 
away  from  home.  I  have  also  things  on  hand 
which  I  think  it  will  do  me  less  harm  to  go 
on  with  quietly,  than  to  bear  the  chagrin 
of  neglecting  —  but  you  may  trust  me  to 
go  on  quietly  now,  and  I  will  soon  write 
again. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  RUSKIN. 

CoNiSTON,  Lancashire,  14th  September^  1871. 

...  In  haste  —  more  to-morrow.  I 've 
bought  a  small  place  here,  with  five  acres  of 
rock  and  moor,  a  streamlet,  and  I  think  on 
the  whole  the  finest  view  I  know  in  Cumber- 
land or  Lancashire,  with  the  sunset  visible 
over  the  same. 

The  house — small,  old,  damp,  and  smoky 
chimneyed  —  somebody  must  help  me  get  to 
rights. 

'  He  had  been  dangerously  ill  at  Matlock. 


38       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


CoNiSTOx,  Lancashire,  15th  September,  '71. 

.  .  .  My  address  as  above  for  three  weeks. 
I  could  not  come  to  Dresden  any  more  than 
Venice,  being  too  ill  to  look  at  pictures  or 
do  more  than  I  had  engaged  to  do  of  thought. 
Here  I  have  rocks,  streams,  fresh  air,  and,  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life,  the  rest  of  the  pur- 
posed home.  I  may  by  some  new  course  of 
things  be  induced  to  leave  it,  but  have  no 
intention  of  seeking  ever  again  for  a  home, 
if  I  do.  I  have  been  directing  the  opening 
of  paths  to-day  through  copse,  from  a  little 
nested  garden  sloping  west  to  the  lake  and 
the  sunset.  I  '11  send  you  some  little  sketches 
of  it  soon. 

Melrose,  24th  September,  '71. 

...  I  shall  in  all  probability  be  fairly  settled 
in  the  house  in  November,  for  one  of  the 
reasons  of  my  getting  it  is  that  I  may  fully 
command  the  winter  sunsets,  in  clear  sky  — 
instead  of  losing  the  dead  of  day  in  the  three- 
o'clock  fog  of  London.  Meantime,  I  am  very 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  39 


thankful  for  that  sense  of  rest,  which  you 
feel  also ;  but  it  is  greatly  troubled  and  dark- 
ened and  lowered  by  the  horrible  arrange- 
ment of  there  being  women  in  the  world  as 
well  as  mountains  and  stars  and  lambs,  and 
what  else  one  might  have  been  at  peace 
with  —  but  for  those  other  creatures ! 

What  a  lovely  Tintoret  that  one  at  Dresden 
must  be  !  I  never  saw  it;  and  what  a  gigan- 
tic, healthy,  Sea-Heaven  of  a  life  he  had, 
compared  to  this  sickly,  muddy,  half  eau 
sucree  and  half  poisoned  wine  —  which  is  my 
River  of  Life ;  and  yet  how  vain  his  also ! 
except  to  you  and  me.  I  am  writing  a  word 
or  two  on  his  work  —  as  true  "  wealth  "  op- 
posed to  French  lithographs  and  the  like,  in 
the  preface  to  second  volume  of  my  revised 
works,  "  Munera  Pulveris."  (The  Oxford  lec- 
tures on  sculpture  will  soon  follow,  for  the 
third.)  I  send  you  two  of  their  illustrations, 
—  not  photo,  but  permanent  engravings,  — 
and  "  Fors  Clavigera"  is,  I  think,  going  on  well. 
It  takes  more  time  than  I  like,  but  is  begin- 


40      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


ning  to  make  an  impression.  Folio  plates  are 
in  preparation,  several  successfully  accom- 
plished, for  a  series  of  examples  to  be  issued 
to  the  public  from  the  Oxford  schools,  with 
a  short  text  to  each  number  to  replace  my 
"  Elements  of  Drawing."  They  begin  with 
Heraldry  (what  will  your  backwoodsmen  say 
to  that .?),  then  take  up  natural  history  in 
relation  to  it. 

[Denmark  Hill]  ist  November^  1871. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  have  to-day  your 
most  kind  letter.  When  I  came  back  from 
Lancashire  I  found  my  mother  ill.  I  had  to 
leave  her  to  go  to  Oxford  —  returning,  found 
her  nigh,  as  I  thought,  to  death.  She  has  ral- 
lied, and  may  yet  be  spared  some  weeks  to  me, 
but  that  is  all  the  respite  I  can  hope,  though 
a  longer  one,  the  physicians  say,  is  possible. 

I  am  still  heavily  overworked,  but  you  will 
soon  see,  now,  not  uselessly.  By  Christmas  I 
hope  to  send  you  three  books  at  once,  all 
carefully  revised  or  written  this  year. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  41 


There  is  no  fear  of  my  sucking  the  orange 
at  Coniston.  There  is  none  to  suck.  I  have 
simply  light  and  air,  instead  of  darkness  and 
smoke,  —  and  ground  in  which  flowers  will 
grow.  All  I  look  for  is  light  and  peace  — 
those,  unless  by  some  strange  chance  of  evil, 
are  sure  to  me.  What  little  pleasure  I  still 
look  for  will  be  in  Italy,  mixed  with  bitter 
pain  —  but  still  intense  in  its  way.  In  Cum- 
berland '  I  merely  breathe  and  rest. 

[Denmark  Hill]  3  November,  1871. 
I  am  working  very  prosperously.  About 
Xmas,  there  (D.  V.)  will  be  a  complete  vol- 
ume of  "  Fors,"  a  volume  of  lectures  on  sculp- 
ture, a  volume  of  revised  Political  Economy, 
and  a  begun  "  Natural  History  and  Mytho- 
logy of  Birds  "  and  the  same  of  Fishes.  My 
poor  Mother  will  only  look  from  afar  {if  ^o) 
—  and  I  suppose  not  care  to  read  —  out  of 
Heaven. 

*  Coniston  is  actually  in  Lancashire. 


42      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


^Dictated] 
Denmark  Hill,  6th  November,  1871. 

My  dearest  Charles, —  I  have  really  to- 
day posted  —  Joan  will  bear  witness  to  that 
—  an  order  to  send  you  the  numbers  of 
"  Fors  "  you  want.  I  have  only  been  remiss 
in  sending  you  anything  because  you  cannot 
have  any  notion  of  what  I  am  trying  to 
do  till  the  end  of  the  year,  when  you  will  get, 
D.  v.,  three  books  at  once.  However,  I  shall 
send  you  the  last  revises  of  the  Lectures  as 
they  are  printed,  so  that  any  helpful  comment 
or  caution  may  reach  me,  so  as  to  leave  me 
yet  a  moment  for  repentance.  .  .  . 

I  don't  wonder  that  you  find  Dresden  a 
little  dull.  Since  they  got  coal  there  it  has  been 
all  spoiled ;  nevertheless,  even  in  winter-time 
there  must  surely  be  loveliness  in  the  granite 
valleys  to  the  South,  and  all  the  hills  on  the 
other  side  of  the  bridges  used  to  be  beautiful, 
not  to  speak  of  Konigstein  and  its  district 
within  so  easy  reach ;  and  then,  you 've  got 
Titian's  pink  lady  in  the  Gallery,  and  Vero- 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  43 


nese's  Magi  —  I  won't  reckon  George  the 
Fourth's  plate,  which  I  was  once  taken  to  see, 
nor  the  little  monsters  with  pearl  stomachs 
in  the  Green  chamber.  But  there  must  be 
music  also —  and  surely  some  blue  eyes  worth 
looking  at.  .  .  . 

Tell  me  what  you  are  working  at,  and  give 
me  more  specific  accounts  of  your  health. 
Ever  your  lovingest 

John  Ruskin. 

15  November^  1871. 

. .  .To-day  I  believe  the  first  five  sheets  of 
the  lectures  are  sent  you — still  in  a  very  rough 
state  apparently,  for  I  catch  two  errors  in  the 
same  leaf.  Please  read  "  fair  "  instead  of  "  air  " 
in  fourth  line  page  75,  and  put  a  full  stop 
after  "  Duces  "  and  none  after  "  proles  "  in 
page  76.  The  meaning  of  the  title '  is  that  I 
have  traced  all  the  elementary  laws  of  sculp- 
ture, as  you  will  see  in  following  sheets,  to  a 
right  understanding  of  the  power  of  incision 

*  Aratra  Pentelici. 


44       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


or  furrow  in  marble.  The  Greek  girl  you  gave 
me  —  she  is  standing  on  tiptoe  just  now,  very 
much  pleased  at  what  I  am  saying,  in  the  cor- 
ner of  my  study,  and  looks  as  if  she  never  had 
heard  anything  that  made  her  quite  under- 
stand herself  before  —  is  made,  if  you  recol- 
lect, a  girl  instead  of  a  block  of  marble,  by 
little  more  than  a  few  fine  furrows  traced 
to  and  fro. 

Denmark  Hill,  9th  December,  '71. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  It  is  Saturday  — 
and  on  Tuesday  last  my  mother  died,  and  yet 
I  have  not  written  to  tell  you,  feeling  continu- 
ally the  same  dread  that  I  should  have  of  tell- 
ing you  anything  sad  concerning  yourself. 

I  am  more  surprised  by  the  sense  of  loneli- 
ness than  I  expected  to  be,  —  but  it  can  only 
be  a  sense,  never  a  reality,  of  solitude,  as 
long  as  I  have  such  friends  as  you. 

I  have  been  very  curious  to  ask  you  — 
since  you  will  not  admit  Frederick  to  have 
been  a  hero,  what  your  idea  of  heroism  is  } 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  45 


I  believe  I  shall  have  to  give  a  subject  for 
an  essay  at  St.  Andrews  this  year  —  the  old- 
est University  of  Scotland.  I  am  going  to 
give  "  The  definition  of  Heroism,  and  its 
function  in  Scotland  at  this  day." 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  RUSKIN. 

p.  S.  [by  Mrs.  Severn].  He  has  n't  told 
you  that  he  has  been  made  Lord  Rector  of 
St.  Andrews. 

23d  December^  1871. 

This  will,  I  hope,  reach  you  not  long 
after  Xmas  day.  My  wishes  are  of  no  use, 
but  are  always  very  earnestly  for  you,  and 
with  you  and  yours. 

Last  night  I  saw  a  proof  of  the  last  of  the 
21  plates  for  sculpture-lectures,  quite  right. 
Nothing  now  but  binding  wanted  for  those 
and  "Munera."  To-day  I  have  my  series 
of  casts  and  shields  from  Tomb  of  Queen 
Eleanor  and  Aymer  de  Valence,  to  begin 
my  drawing  class  in  Heraldry,  and  of  little 


46       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


statues  from  same  tombs,  to  begin  them  in 
Propriety. 

I  have  the  first  lecture  written,  and  the 
rest  planned,  of  series  on  connection  of  Sci- 
ence and  Art,  for  next  spring  (ten),  begin- 
ning 8th  February,  I  hope. 

In  a  book  on  Heraldry  I  find  the  8th  Feb- 
ruary, in  Gothic  times,  began  spring. 

I  have  my  Xmas  and  January  "  Fors " 
printed.  February  nearly  all  written. 

I  have  a  lecture  on  "  The  Bird  of  Calm," 
nearly  ready  for  Woolwich  in  a  fortnight.  It 
is  to  be  given  to  the  cannon-making  workmen. 

I  have  got  a  "  Danthe"  of  1490  printed  at 
Venice,  out  of  Kirkup  sale,  with  woodcuts  to 
every  canto. 

I  have  got  a  wonderful  new  piece  of  opal, 
and  some  mineralogy  in  hand. 

And  I 'm  very  well,  for  me,  but  the  day 's 
foggy,  and  I 've  forgotten  the  chief  thing  I 
meant  to  put  down  —  I 'm  keeping  my  ac- 
counts since  the  shortest  day  beautifully. 

That 's  all  I  can  say  to-day,  except  love. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  47 


Oh  —  I  forgot  again  the  other  chief  thing 
I  Ve  to  say  —  I 've  been  going  into  the 
Americans  as  hard  as  I  can  go  in  "  Fors," 
lately;  but  I  don't  meanjj/^^,  you  know,  and 
I  '11  come  round  presently  to  the  other  side. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  R. 

[Denmark  Hill]  4th  January,  1872. 

I  have  been  so  singularly,  even  for  me, 
depressed  and  weak  since  the  beginning  of 
the  year,  that  I  could  not  write  to  you.  One 
of  the  distinctest  sources  of  this  depression  is 
my  certitude  that  I  ought  now  to  wear  spec- 
tacles ;  but  much  also  depends  on  the  sense  of 
loss  of  that  infinitude  of  love  my  mother  had 
for  me,  and  the  bitter  pity  for  its  extinc- 
tion. .  .  . 

I  much  delight  in  this  coin  of  Frederick, 
and  very  solemnly  and  with  my  whole  heart 
prefer  it  to  the  Hercules.  I  should  even  pre- 
fer my  own  profile  to  the  Greek  Hercules, 
though  mine  has  the  wofulest  marks  of  folly, 


48       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


irresolution,  and  disease.  But  Frederick  and 
I  had  both  of  us  about  the  worst  education 
that  men  could  get  for  money,  and  both  had 
passed  through  rough  times  which  partly 
conquered  us  —  being  neither  of  us,  cer- 
tainly not  I,  made  of  the  best  metal,  even 
had  we  been  well  brought  up.  One  of  the 
quaintest  things  in  your  last  letter  was  your 
fixing,  in  your  search  for  bad  epithets  for 
Frederick,  on  "  Unsociable."  And  yet  you 
love  me! 

But  not  to  continue  so  insolent  a  compar- 
ison any  longer,  take  the  one  instance  of 
Frederick's  domestic  and  moral  temper,  that 
having  been  in  danger  of  death  under  the 
will  —  almost  sentence — of  a  father  partly  in- 
sane, he  yet  never  accuses,  but  in  all  things 
justifies,  and  evidently  reverences  that  father 
through  life.  .  .  . 

[January]  28th  [1872]. 

...  I  have  the  registered  letter,  and  will 
pack  the  "  Slaver  "  forthwith. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  49 


It  is  right  that  it  should  be  in  America,'  and 
I  am  well  pleased  in  every  way,  and  always 
Your  lovingest, 

J.  RUSKIN. 
D.  Hill,  13th  February^  '72. 

...  I  am,  as  usual,  unusually  busy  —  when 
I  get  fairly  into  my  lecture  work  at  Oxford,  I 
always  find  that  the  lecture  would  come  bet- 
ter some  other  way,  just  before  it  is  given, 
and  so  work  from  hand  to  mouth.  There  are 
to  be  ten  this  spring.  Two  are  given,  and  I 
have  two  a  week  for  four  weeks,  on  the  rela- 
tion of  art  to  natural  science,  and  am  print- 
ing them  as  I  go  on  —  besides  all  the  work 
of  changing  into  my  rooms  at  Corpus,  and 
sending  the  rest  that 's  in  the  house  to  Brant- 
wood,  and  business  connected  with  all,  etc., 
etc.,  etc.,  —  and  I  want  to  draw  some  things 
this  spring  for  the  men. 

I  keep  pretty  well,  and  have  not,  if  I 

*  Turner's  grand  and  astonishing  picture,  now  in  the  Bos- 
ton Museum  of  Fine  Arts. 


50       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


sleep,  time  to  be  sad,  though  living  in  my 
quiet  rooms  at  Corpus  is  very  wonderful  to 
me ;  but  not  painful.  Going  about  London 
is  very  dreadful  to  me,  every  street  having 
some  bitter  memory ;  but  when  I  get  away 
from  it,  and  everybody  is  kind  to  me,  I  can't 
keep  sulky.  .  .  . 

St.  Valentine's  eve,  1872. 

My  dearest  Charles, — I  sent  you  a  little 
line  this  morning.  I 've  just  seen  at  Ellis's 
your  "  Triumph  of  Max"" "  '  —  it  is  a  very  nice 
copy,  and  I  told  them  I  would  write  and  say 
so.  I  had  just  seen  a  large  paper  one  not 
much  better  in  any  way,  and  not  at  all  so 
pleasant  to  look  at. 

I  do  not  know  if  I  ever  told  you  how  much 
I  admire  it,  but  you  will  like  to  hear  that  I 
am  going  to  cut  one  all  to  pieces,  and  frame 
in  raised  mounts,  the  square  banners  with 
the  women-shield-bearers,  for  the  Oxford  men 

*  A  copy  of  the  volume  of  superb  wood-cuts  known  as 
the  Trm})iph  of  [the  Emperor]  Maximilian. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  51 


to  learn  pen  drawing  from,  and  some  of  the 
Knights  that  carry  them,  the  half  length,  only 
without  the  horses,  so  as  to  compel  attention 
to  the  faces,  plumes,  and  body  armour. 

I  think  you  will  like,  as  nobody  yet  has 
liked,  going  over  the  schools,  when  you  come 
^ome  —  to  England.  It's  absurd  to  think  of 
yourself  as  American  any  more  ;  but  even  if 
you  do,  all  good  Americans  should  live  in 
England,  for  America's  sake,  to  make  her 
love  her  fathers'  country —  if  not  in  the  past, 
at  least  now. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Corpus  Christi  College,  Oxford, 
Easter  Sunday,  '72. 

My  dearest  Charles,— I  left  my  Denmark 
Hill  study,  to  go  back  no  more,  on  Thurs- 
day, and  have  passed  my  Good  Friday  and 
Saturday  here,  quite  alone,  finding,  strangely, 
one  of  my  Father's  diaries  for  my  solace, 
giving  account  of  all  our  continental  journeys. 


52      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


from  the  time  I  was  six  years  old,  when  he  and 
my  mother,  and  I,  and  a  cat,  whom  I  made 
a  friend  at  Paris,  and  an  old  French  man- 
chambermaid,  were  all  very  happy  (yet  not  so 
much  in  degree  as  completeness)  at  Paris  — 
my  Father  some  twelve  years  younger  than  I 
am  now.  .  .  . 

We  leave  England,  D.  V.,  on  Tuesday  the 
9th.  A  line  to  care  of  Arthur  Severn,  Heme 
Hill,  London,  would  find  me  probably  sit- 
ting writing  before  breakfast  at  the  window  of 
my  old  nursery  —  whence  I  visited  Paris  for 
the  first  time.  .  .  . 

I  am  going  to  sell  my  Venice  Rialto  by 
Turner.  It  is  too  large  for  Brantwood,  and  I 
have  enough  without  it,  and  it  makes  me  sad. 
.  .  .  I  am  so  tired  that  this  which  I  have  writ- 
ten, in  the  idea  of  its  being  quite  a  slow  and 
careful  and  proper  letter,  looks  as  slovenly  as 
if  I  cared  nothing  for  you,  but  I  care  for  you 
though  I  can't  write. 

Ever  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  53 


Herne  Hill,  S.  E.,  London,  loth  August. 
I  am  myself  going  to  give,  this  autumn,  at 
Oxford,  a  summary  of  the  points  in  the  lives 
of  the  Florentines  and  their  school  as  related 
by  Vasari,  i.  e.,  assuming  Vasari  to  be  correct, 
what  thoughtful  conjecture  may  be  made  as  to 
each  life.  Then  I  shall  correct  Vasari  after- 
wards as  I  can,  to  make  him  understood,  first 
sifting  the  points  in  each  life  from  the  rubbish. 
I  shall  do  Verrocchio,  Mantegna,  Sandro  Bot- 
ticelli, Pollajuolo,  Lorenzo  di  Credi,  Perugino, 
and  the  Lippis,  with  what  else  comes  in  nat- 
urally —  and  I  think  it  will  be  interesting. 
Nothing  I  have  ever  seen  in  mythic  and  reli- 
gious art  has  interested  or  delighted  me  so 
much  as  Sandro  and  Perugino  in  the  Sistine 
Chapel  —  Perugino  at  Perugia  was  another 
piece  of  new  life  to  me. 

Corpus  Christi  College,  Oxford, 
i^tk  November  J  1872. 

...  I  will  never  take  anybody's  advice  any 
more.  I  want  somebody  to  help  me  against 


54      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


you  —  you  're  always  too  strong  for  me  — 
the  more  foolish  they  are  the  better.  .  .  . 

You  spoke  of  coming  down  with  Ned  on 
Thursday.  Please  do/ 

Lancaster,  27th  December^  '72. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  brought  your 
Siena  ^  home  from  Oxford  with  me,  and  have 
been  reading  it  all  the  way  down,  having 
carriage  to  myself. 

It  is  curious  that  the  first  drawing  I  ever 
made  of  Italian  art  should  have  been  from 
Duccio,  and  that  I  should  have  sent  it  to  you 
the  day  before  I  read  the  account  you  give 
of  him  —  twenty  times  more  interesting  than 
Cimabue. 

I  was  greatly  surprised  by  the  early  dates 
you  assign  and  prove  for  the  fall  of  Siena, 
and  also  by  your  ascribing  it  in  the  end, 

*  I  was  established  for  the  winter  in  London.  <'  Ned  "  was 
Burne-Jones. 

"  An  account  of  the  building  of  the  Duomo  at  Siena,  af- 
terwards published  in  my  Church-Building  in  the  Middle 
Ages. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  55 


so  completely,  to  the  failure  of  religious 
faith. 

Q.,  —  and  this  is  the  only  thing  which  dur- 
ing the  whole  •  day  I  wanted  my  pen  to  sug- 
gest, all  the  rest  being  unquestionable, — 
should  we  not  rather  say,  the  failure  of  the 
qualities  which  render  religious  faith  possible, 
and  which,  if  it  be  taught,  make  it  accept- 
able? 

How  far  religion  made  —  how  far  de- 
stroyed —  the  Italians  is  now  a  quite  hope- 
lessly difficult  question  with  me.  My  work 
will  only  be  to  give  material  for  its  solu- 
tion. 

My  cold  is  nearly  gone.  I  will  do  S  

her  drawing  and  you  yours,  at  Brantwood.  I 
have  been  dining  on  turtle  soup  and  steak, 
and  have  had  more  than  half  a  pint  of  sherry, 
and  feel  comfortable  —  here  in  King's  Arms 
Inn,  with  picture  of  Dickens's  Empty  Chair 
behind  me,  and  his  signature  to  it,  cut  out 
of  a  letter  to  the  landlord.  Volunteer  band 
playing,  melodiously  and  cheerfully.  Mind 


56       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


you  get  acquainted  with  a  conscientious 
Punch. 

P.  S.  Pitch  dark  day. 

O.  (not  a  critical  one).  After  that  time  of 
homicide  at  Siena,  Heaven  sent  the  Black 
Plague.  "  You  will  kill  each  other,  will  you  ? 
You  shall  have  it  done  cheaper." 

TVe  have  covered  ourselves  with  smoke. 
"  You  want  darkness }  "  says  Heaven.  "  You 
shall  have  it  cheaper." 

Brant  WOOD,  Coniston,  15th  January^  1873. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  ...  I  have  had 
fourteen  days  of  incessant  wind  and  rain,  and 
am  stupid  with  disgust  and  wonder  that  such 
things  should  be.  Nature  herself  traitress  to 
me  —  whatever  Wordsworth  may  say.  No 
light  to  paint,  nor  temper  to  think ;  but  I 
have  been  working  at  the  instructions  to  my 
drawing-class.  Everything  now  takes  so  much 
more  time  than  I  calculate  —  it  is  terri- 
ble. .  .  . 

Love  to  you  all,  especially  to  S.  I 've  done 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  57 


a  bit  of  ivy,  but  it  looks  gloomy,  and  hope  to 
get  a  bit  of  cup-moss  for  her  instead. 

Ever  your  lovingest 

J.  RUSKIN. 
7th  February,  1873. 

...  I  will  have  the  marbles  sent  down 
here.'  I  am  going  to  make  more  and  more 
a  perfect  home  of  this  place.  I  have  the 
gift  of  sucking  bitters,  and  am  just  now 
quite  uncomfortable  because  my  house  is  too 
pleasant,  and  I  don't  like  going  back  to  Ox- 
ford. 

Brantwood,  Coniston,  8th  February^  1873. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  send  you  an 
old  sketchbook,  full  of  scrawls  done  in  the 
cold  (with  that  excuse  for  never  doing  any- 
thing that  I  ought  to  have  done  to  them)  in 
the  winter  of  '62,1  think,  or  '61  —  Crawley* 
will  know. 

*  Some  pieces  of  late  thirteenth  century  Pisan  sculpture, 
fragments  of  a  font,  which  I  had  obtained  for  him  in  Italy. 
^  His  old  servant. 


58       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


They  now  only  give  me  sorrow  and  shame 
to  look  at —  both  deep.  I  ought  perhaps 
to  be  very  thankful  that  I  am  wise  enough  to 
think  my  ten  years  old  self  a  fool,  and  that 
I  am  unhappy  only  by  not  getting  what  I 
wanted,  instead  of  getting  it. 

I  walked  seven  miles  yesterday  on  hea- 
venly short,  sheep-bitten  turf;  climbed  1800 
feet  above  lake  among  the  snow;  rowed  a 
mile;  superintended  the  making  of  a  cor- 
ner window  in  my  "  lodge,"  to  be  Crawley's 
house,  and  worked  at  Greek  coins  all  the 
evening,  without  spectacles.  I  ought  n't  to 
grumble,  at  54,  to  be  able  to  do  that.  And, 
indeed,  I  am  less  discontented  than  I  was 
at  Lucerne,  that  winter.  Perhaps  I  shall  be 
quite  happy  just  before  I  leave  the  world. 

If  there 's  anything  in  the  sketchbook  you 
would  like  name  put  to,  I  '11  do  it  when  I 
come  to  town,  if  you  leave  the  book  with  me. 

All  good  be  to  you  that  can  be. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  R. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  59 


Brantwood,  Ash  Wednesday, 
26th  February^  i873' 

Dearest  Charles,  —  Your  lovely  little 
note  just  come,  and  with  it  the  Dante  mar- 
bles. Far  beyond  what  I  had  hoped,  and 
quite  beyond  all  price  to  me.  I  have  n't  been 
so  pleased  for  many  a  year. 

I  ought  to  be  very  good  —  now  such  a 
study  as  I  have.  Must  tell  you  about  it,  or, 
rather,  you  must  all  come  and  see,  in  May. 

Ever  your  loving,  ♦ 
J.  R. 

RUSKIN,  (JOHN).  Autograph  Letter,  Signed  with  Initials.  Ip.  8vo, 
i  "Corpus  Christi  College.  Oxford.  March  20,  1873.  To  Charles  Eliot  Norton, 
'  with  original  addressed  and  stamped  envelope. 

Reads:  "My  dearest  Charles:  Can  you  be  at  home  on  Sunday  for  me — 

in  the  forenoon?  I  can't  get  to  you  before.  I  shall  bring  Connie  to  you 

on  Monday,  however.  I  hope  you  make  her  very  happy  .  .  .  Ever  yours, 

J.  R." 


IV 

I873-I893 


IV 


I873-I893 

After  my  return  from  Europe  in  May,  1873, 
ten  years  passed  before  I  again  saw  Ruskin. 
They  were  years  of  grave  change  and  sad 
experience  for  him.  He  continued  to  engage 
in  dangerous  excess  of  dispersed  and  exhaust- 
ing work,  and  to  yield  to  a  still  more  danger- 
ous excess  of  emotion.  The  intensity  of  his 
sensitiveness  to  immediate  impressions,  the 
passionate  ardor  of  his  feelings,  the  habit  of 
uncontrolled  expression  reacting  to  increase 
the  temper  from  which  it  sprang,  continued 
to  aggravate  the  bitterness  of  his  resentment 
against  the  evil  of  the  world  and  to  deprive 
him  of  peace  of  mind.  His  unsettled  religious 
convictions  failed  to  afford  him  solid  spiritual 
comfort  and  support  His  writings,  largely 
devoted  to  social  questions,  exposed  him  by 
their  manner  as  well  as  by  their  doctrine  to 
harsh  criticism,  by  which  he  was  wounded 
and  embittered.  He  felt  deeply  the  separation 


64       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


which  was  growing  wider  and  wider  between 
himself  and  other  men.  His  firmest  convic- 
tions were  opposed  to  the  prevailing  ideas 
of  his  time.  He  stood  alone  and  like  a  pro- 
phet to  whom  his  people  would  not  hearken. 
Personal  sorrows  added  to  his  troubles. 
His  brain  and  his  heart  were  alike  over- 
wrought. 

Yet  there  were  intervals  when  the  natural 
elasticity  and  cheerfulness  of  his  disposition 
asserted  themselves,  when  the  delights  of 
nature  or  of  art  could  still  minister  to  his 
happiness,  and  when  all  the  sweetness  and 
generosity  of  his  nature  displayed  them- 
selves in  their  incomparable  abundance. 

His  friends  could  not  but  be  anxious  for 
him,  and  they  strove  in  vain  to  persuade  him 
to  moderate  his  exhausting  career.  For  a  long 
time  the  vigor  of  his  constitution  enabled  it 
to  endure  the  excessive  strain  to  which  it  was 
subjected,  but  finally,  in  1878,  it  gave  way,  and 
he  was  brought  near  death  by  a  violent  inflam- 
mation of  the  brain.  The  immediate  attack 
passed,  leaving  apparently  little  effect.  The 
monthly  issue  of  "  Fors  Clavigera,"  which 
had  continued  unbroken  for  seven  years, 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  65 


and  in  which  he  had  poured  out  his  thought 
on  every  subject,  displaying  himself  and  his 
affairs  with  astonishing  frankness  and  sincer- 
ity, was  now  suspended.  It  had  been  a  dan- 
gerous mode  of  relief  of  his  overburdened 
spirit. 

From  this  time  he  was  never  safe  from 
similar  breakdowns,  which  recurred  at  in- 
tervals with  more  or  less  severity,  with  grad- 
ual permanent  damage  to  his  brain. 

Brant  WOOD,  Coniston,  25th  June,  1873. 

Dearest  Charles,  —  I  am  not  doing  as 
you  bid  me.  It  is  Saturday,  and  a  month 
since  your  letter  was  written,  and  this  is  my 
first.  I  am  very  hard  at  work  on  my  new 
elements  of  drawing.  The  scheme  is  too  large 
for  arrangement.  I  must  do  it  piece  by  piece. 
When  I  was  systematic,  nobody  believed  I 
was,  so  it  matters  little. 

But  the  time  it  takes  one  to  determine  how 
large  a  quatre-foil  is  to  be  drawn,  how  thick 
a  line,  etc.  !  Things  wholly  unallowed  for  as 
taking  time  at  all. 


66      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


But  really,  I  think  I  have  done  much  lately, 
and  that  it  must  tell  soon.  I  mean  to  get 
the  Botticelli  lectures  out,  somehow. 

I  am  more  curious  about  you  and  your  life 
that  is  to  be  than  about  anything  not  my  own 
business.  I  am  more  thankful  for  your  friend- 
ship every  hour.  Love  to  you  all  —  as  much 
as  I  have  left  for  any  one.  living. 

I  hope  you  will  be  better  pleased  with  the 
pieces  about  Scott  than  you  are  usually  with 
"  Fors,"  this  next  month. 

Alfred  Hunt  has  been  staying  with  me. 
He  is  very  faithful  and  affectionate  to  me, 
as  I  am  to  you,  and 

Ever  your  devbted 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Brantwood,  Coniston,  Lancashire, 
i5th>/K,  1873- 
...  I  am  writing,  not  against  time,  but 
constantly,  what  is  becoming  (in  "  Fors  ")  al- 
most a  life  of  Walter  Scott,  and  an  impor- 
tant analysis  of  Frederick.  Merely  digests  of 
Lockhart  and  Carlyle,  but  useful.  My  great 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  67 


mental  gift  is  Digestion,  and  my  great  bodily 
defect,  Indigestion  —  it's  odd  enough;  but 
really,  the  best  authors  appear  to  me  very 
often  as  I  suppose  her  cubs  do  to  a  bear. 
I  hope  Carlyle  will  take  his  licking  as  it 's 
meant. 

Also,  I  am  slowly,  but  steadily,  getting  both 
"  Birds  "  and  "  Botticelli "  published,  but  the 
press  correction  is  very  painful  to  me. 

And  I  am  gardening  and  walking  a  good 
deal.  And  before  breakfast  —  i.  e.,  from  half 
past  six  to  nine  —  I  read  (finding  that  one 
must  have  some  fresh  wool  on  one's  staff  to 
spin  with) :  i.e.,  half  past  six  to  seven,  Greek 
Testament  of  nth  century,  partly  to  master 
early  Greek  writing,  partly  to  read  the  now 
to  me  very  curiously  new  Testament  with 
a  witness :  seven  to  eight,  "  Romance  of 
Rose  "  in  fourteenth  century  MS.,  a  little  be- 
fore Chaucer ;  the  very  text  he  translated  — 
delicious  old  French  —  worse  than  Joinville 
to  make  out,  a  great  deal :  eight  to  half  past, 
"Cent  Ballades,"  completing  (slowly)  begun 


68       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


translation:  half  past  eight  to  nine,  "Calli- 
machus  " — very  delicious  and  fruitful  to  me. 
I  rest  almost  entirely  after  two  o'clock.  My. 
woods  want  thinning,  and  I  saunter  through 
them,  bill  in  hand.  .  .  . 

I  am  happier  than  I  was  at  Denmark  Hill 
—  and  yet  look  back  to  Denmark  Hill,  en- 
raged at  myself  for  not  knowing  its  bless- 
ings. 

I  am  always  your  lovingest 

J.  R. 

Oxford,  C[orpus]  C[hristi]  C[ollege], 
Dece7nber  2nd,  1873. 

...  I  often  hear  your  sermons  over  again. 
I  attend  to  them  very  much  indeed.  I  think 
my  steady  resistance  to  them  the  most  heroic 
of  all  the  efforts  I  make  in  the  service  of  my 
poor  —  "lower  than  the  angels."  Sometimes, 
when  I 'm  tired  in  the  evening,  they  nearly 
break  me  down,  and  I 'm  so  proud  next  morn- 
ing of  not  having  been  beaten. 

But  I 'm  very  sure  you  will  be  better  pleased 
with  the  "  Fors  "  for  next  year,  if  I  live. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  69 


I  go  to  Assisi  early  in  the  spring  to  work 
there,  with  what  help  I  can  gather,  on  a  mono- 
graph of  it. 

I  am  surprised  to  find  how  well  my  health 
holds,  under  a  steady  press  of  work ;  but  my 
sight  begins  to  fail,  and  I  shall  begin  with 
spectacles  this  next  year. 

I  will  find  a  bit  of  architecture  for  you,  how- 
ever, or,  even  with  my  old  eyes,  do  you  a  bit 
that  won't  be  copiable  by  the  "  bold  "  scholars. 

Herne  Hill,  nth  February^  '74. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  am  sitting  in 
my  old  nursery,  in  the  afternoon  of  a  clear, 
very  cold  frosty  day,  wind  outside  sharp.  I  a 
little  numb  and  weary,  after  drawing  on  Giot- 
to's tower  for  a  drawing  example  (I  am  push- 
ing them  now  at  last).  The  view  through  the 
bars  put  to  keep  me  from  falling  out  when  I 
was  little  is  much  as  it  was  — only  the  Crystal 
Palace  is  there,  and  a  group  of  houses  on  the 
ridge  of  the  hill,  where  the  Palace  Hotel  is, 
—  where  my  father  and  mother  used  to  go 


70      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


when  they  could  n't  travel  any  more  with 
me.  ... 

Send  me  all  the  remarks  you  can  on  Val 
d'  Arno  —  they  will  be  in  plenty  of  time.  I 
shall  go  down  to  Brantwood  for  a  month,  and 
then  start  straight  for  Assisi,  about  end  of 
March.  I  have  no  pleasure  whatever  in  the 
thought  of  going,  bift  perhaps  may  find  more 
than  if  I  expected  it.  But  I  shall  think  of 
Siena,  and  many  sad  things,  and  at  present 
Italy  is  saddest  of  all. 

Herne  Hill,  13th  February^  1874. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  Your  letter  came 
to-night,  after  dinner,  —  on  one  side  of  the 
tray  on  which  letters  are  brought  up.  o  ,  . 

I  am  so  glad  you  like  those  Brantwood 
photographs. 

It  was  a  terrible  disappointment  to  me,  your 
not  coming.  No  photograph  can  give  you  the 
least  idea  of  the  sweet  greys  and  greens  in  the 
intense  English  richness  of  the  moss  vege- 
tation, or  the  ^almost  Italian  beauty  of  the 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  71 


lower  end  of  the  lake  —  all  the  photographs 
lose  it  in  mist.  I  will  send  you  a  little  sketch 
or  two  this  next  month,  God  willing. 

Herne  Hill,  Saturday  morning, 
St.  Valentine's,  1874. 

. . .  I 'm  going  to  drive  up  the  hill  to  the  Crys- 
tal Palace,  and  I  shall  play  some  games  of 
chess  with  the  automaton  chess  player.  I  get 
quite  fond  of  him,  and  he  gives  me  the  most 
lovely  lessons  in  chess.  I  say  I  shall  play  some 
games,  for  I  never  keep  him  waiting  for  moves 
and  he  crushes  me  down  steadily,  and  my  mind 
won't  be  all  in  my  play,  to-day,  any  more  than 
Henry  8th  at  end  of  the  play'  —  only  the 
automaton  won't  say,  "  Sir,  I  did  never  win  of 
you  before ! " 

Thanks  for  your  words  about  "  Fors." 

Ever  your  affectionate 

J.  R. 

^  The  reference  is  to  these  verses :  — 

King  Henry.  Charles,  I  will  play  no  more  to-night ; 
My  mind 's  not  on 't ;  you  are  too  hard  for  me. 

Suffolk.  Sir,  I  did  never  win  of  you  before. 

Henry  VHI.  V.  i. 


72       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Corpus  Christi  College,  Oxford, 
15th  February,  1874. 

...  I  played  three  games  with  the  automa- 
ton —  not  bad  ones,  considering.  Two  other 
people  played  him,  also,  —  an  hour  and  a  half 
went  in  the  five  games.  .  .  . 

I  came  away  here  in  the  evening,  and  am 
going  down  to  Brantwood.  I  shall  make  you  a 
little  drawing  of  myself,  positively,  before  I  go 
abroad.  Write  for  the  present  to  Brantwood. 

I  have  just  put  up  half  a  dozen  proofs  of 
Turner's  Rivers,  etc.,  for  you  —  all  but  one 
have  some  scratching  or  pencilling  of  his 
own  on  them. 

Pisa,  9th  Aprils  1874. 

...  I  have  always  thought  you  just  as  wrong 
in  following  out  your  American  life,  as  you 
think  me  in  following  "  Fors "  to  its  issue 
—  perhaps  we  each  of  us  judge  best  for  the 
other.  Suppose  we  both  give  up  our  con- 
founded countries  ?  Let  them  go  their  own 
way  in  peace,  and  we  will  travel  together, 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  73 


and  abide  where  we  will,  and  live  b.  Co  —  or 
in  the  13th  century.  I  will  draw,  you  shall 
write,  and  we  shall  neither  of  us  be  too  merry 
for  the  other  —  and  both  much  the  stronger 
for  the  other.  I  really  think  this  a  very  lovely 
plan  —  and  sometimes  we  '11  go  and  have  a 
symposium  at  Venice  with  R.  B.' 

Meantime,  I  can't  in  the  least  help  you 
about  Athens.  I 've  had  to  give  up  my  Greek 
work.  Vita  Brevis,  It  needs  a  better  scholar 
and  younger  life.  I 'm  going  to  draw  what  I 
can  in  Italy,  and  say  a  few  words  for  Christ's 
sake  against  your  Philosophers  and  Radicals 
yet,  if  I  live ;  but  I  can't  do  more  for  Athena. 

I  have  told  Burgess  to  send  you  the  two 
beginnings  of  myself  I  made  for  you.  All 
that  is  good  in  me  depends  on  terrible  sub- 
tleties, which  I  find  will  require  my  very 
best  care  and  power  of  completion  —  all  that 
comes  at  first  is  the  worst.  Continually  I  see 
accidental  looks,  which,  if  I  could  set  down, 
you  would  like ;  but  I  have  been  able  to  do 

*  Rawdon  Brown. 


74       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


nothing  yet,  only  I  let  these  failures  be  sent 
to  show  I  have  been  trying.  „  .  . 

I  am  writing  in  the  inn  where  we  were  to- 
gether in  1870.  I  was  bitterly  wrong  to  leave 
La  Spina  undrawn,  and  the  old  River  quays. 

We  had  better  arrange  that  Expatriotic 
plan  at  once.  I  '11  write  again  soon  from 
Assisi  or  Palermo. 

Assisi,  nth  Apn'l,  1874. 

...  I  have  just  got  here,  and  have  ordered 
all  things  to  be  ready  in  the  upper  church 
to-morrow  to  begin  work  with  the  Arundel 
society  man,  who  is  really  enthusiastic  and 
tender,  but  weak.  I  hope  to  get  some  im- 
portant impressions  made  on  him.  But  how 
difficult  it  is,  to  tell  any  man  not  to  "  im- 
prove "  his  copy !  All  one's  little  character 
and  life  goes  into  the  minute  preferences 
which  are  shown  in  the  copy.  In  one's  own 
feeble  sort,  it  must  be  prettier  than  the 
original,  or  it  is  dead.  A  plum,  even  by 
Hunt,  must   be  Huntized  —  and  if  your 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  75 


Giotto  copyist  is,  as  nearly  as  possible, 
Giotto's  negative  on  a  small  scale,  the  exact 
opposite  of  him,  gentle  when  he  is  rough, 
and  sad  when  he  is  gay,  no  lecturing  will 
turn  said  negative  to  good  account.  .  .  . 

I 'm  so  very  glad  you  like  my  drawings. 
That  one  of  the  Fall  of  Schaff hausen '  was 
the  only  one  I  ever  saw  Turner  interested  in. 
He  looked  at  it  long,  evidently  with  pleasure, 
and  shook  his  finger  at  it,  one  evening,  stand- 
ing by  the  fire  in  the  old  Denmark  Hill 
drawing-room. 

How  Destiny  does  mock  one,  giving  all 
the  best  things  when  one  is  too  young  to  use 
them!  Fancy  if  I  had  him  to  shake  fingers 
at  me  now.  .  .  . 

Sacristan^s  Cell,  Monastery  of  Assist, 
Morning,  yi««^  19th,  1874. 

...  I  am  wholly  occupied  just  now  with 
Giotto's  "  Poverty."    I 've  done  Botticelli's 

^  This  drawing  was  made  probably  as  early  as  1843.  It  is 
a  fine  study,  of  which  Ruskin  had  lost  sight,  and  which 
turned  up  for  sale  in  New  York,  where  I  obtained  it. 


76       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Zipporah  successfully  '  —  but  the  "  Poverty  " 
is  on  a  vault,  and  the  looking  up  at  it  and  not 
being  able  to  change  the  distance  torments 
me  dreadfully.  It  is  fine,  but  on  the  whole  I 
am  greatly  disappointed  with  Giotto,  on 
close  study  —  and  on  the  contrary,  altogether 
amazed  at  the  power  of  Cimabue,  before 
wholly  unknown  to  me. 

Botticelli  remains  where  he  was,  only  be- 
cause he  could  n't  get  higher,  in  my  mind, 
after  a  month's  work  on  him.  I  wish  I  could 
give  him  the  rest  of  my  life,  but  it  must 
be  broken  into  small  pieces.  If  a  blessing 
comes  on  the  fragments,  they  may  some  day 
multiply. 

I  write  the  supplementary  part  of  my 
lectures  on  him  here,  every  morning,  in  abso- 
lute quiet,  looking  out  on  the  Apennines  — 
St.  Francis  lying  within  thirty  yards  of  me. 

^  Just  after  the  preceding  letter  was  written  Ruskin  had 
left  Assisi  for  Rome  and  Palermo.  At  Palermo  he  passed  a 
few  days  with  Colonel  Yule  and  his  daughter,  and  then  re- 
turning to  Rome,  he  spent  May  there,  employed  mainly  in 
copying  the  Zipporah  in  Botticelli's  fresco  in  the  Sistine 
Chapel.  He  got  back  to  Assisi  early  in  June. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  77 


.  .  .  The  Cimabue  is  a  discovery  to  me, 
—  wholly  unexpected,  —  Vasari  mistaking  as 
usual  the  place  where  he  is,  and  everybody 
passing,  as  I  did  myself,  the  apparently  coarse 
Madonna  of  the  Scuola  Greca.  At  last  I  set 
myself  on  it  on  a  bright  day  and  upset  Giotto 
from  his  pedestal  in  a  minute  or  two's  close 
look. 

Vasari  is  all  right  about  the  upper  church, 
but  not  the  lower.  The  large  frescoes  in  upper 
church  are  grand,  but  it  is  one  Madonna  in  the 
lower  that  has  knocked  me  over.  I 'm  going 
to  set  to  work  on  her  to-day,  D.  V.  —  June 
20th. 

Assisi,  Inn  of  the  Lion,  June  20th. 

.  .  .  To-day  your  dear  little  note  finds  me 
after  some  wanderings  about  Rome.  I  am  very 
glad  of  it,  chiefly  of  your  thought  of  Greece. 
But  I  can't  travel  now,  except  in  comfortable 
places  —  so  much  has  my  too  luxurious  life 
corrupted  me  —  and  I  don't  know  what  I 


78       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


may  have  to  do,  these  coming  years.  So  far 
from  being  in  peace  as  you  think,  my  days 
here  are  passed  in  daily  maddening  rage,  and 
daily  increasing  certainty  that  "  Fors  "  is  my 
work  —  not  painting  —  at  this  time.  But 
Fors,  pursued  in  deed,  not  word. 

How  you,  with  all  the  tenderness  that  is  in 
you,  can  deliberately  see  this  people  perish, 
and  yet  tell  every  fiddler  to  go  on  fiddling, 
and  every  painter  to  go  on  painting,  as  if 
there  were  yet  ears  to  hear  or  eyes  to  see, 
is  the  most  amazing  thing  to  me  among 
all  the  various  amazements  which  leave  me 
alone  in  my  work,  or  worse  than  alone  — 
obliged,  at  each  stone  I  lay,  to  drag  up 
with  me  the  lengthening  chain  of  friends* 
reproof. 

Note  the  date  of  this  letter  —  you  shall 
have  a  copy  of  what  I  wrote  this  morning  in 
the  Sacristan's  cell  —  it  will  be  interesting 
to  you.  I  '11  write  to  Burgess. 

J.  R. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  79 


Monastery  of  Assisi,  2isx  June,  1874. 
My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  am  writing  in 
my  cell,  within  a  few  yards  —  just  across  the 
cloister  passage  —  of  the  door  into  the  lower 
church,  in  the  angle  of  the  transept,  just 
opposite  my  newly  found  treasure  of  Cima- 
bue. 

It  may  be  useful  to  you  in  your  own  work 
to  know  what  I  have  —  I  may  already  almost 
say  —  ascertained  about  him.  That  he  was 
a  man  of  personal  genius,  equal  to  Tintoret, 
but  with  his  mind  entirely  formed  by  the 
Gospels  and  the  book  of  Genesis ;  his  art,  as 
you  know,  what  he  could  receive  from  By- 
zantine masters  —  and  his  main  disposition, 
compassion. 

You  will  comprehend  in  a  moment  what  a 
new  subject  of  investigation  this  is  to  me, 
and  the  extraordinary  range  of  unexpected 
interests  and  reversed  ideas  which  it  involves. 
Giotto  is  a  mere  domestic  gossip,  compared 
to  Cimabue.  Fancy  the  intellect  of  Phidias 
with  the  soul  of  St.  John,  and  the  knowledge 


8o      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


of  a  boy  of  ten  years  old,  in  perspective, 
light  and  shade,  etc. 

He  can't  by  any  effort  make  his  Madonna 
look  as  if  she  were  sitting  in  her  throne.  She 
is  merely  standing  stumpily.  But  I  am  pre- 
pared to  assert  her  for  the  sublimest  Mater 
Dolorosa  ever  painted,  as  far  as  my  know- 
ledge extends,  in  the  Italian  schools. 

I  am  going  to  draw  her,  and  think  I  can, 
and  you  shall  have  a  photograph  (I  hope  a 
little  sketch,  also,  quickly).  But  do  you  sup- 
pose my  power  either  of  drawing  or  seeing 
her,  is  merely  because  I  have  a  painter's  eye  ? 
I  must  have  that,  to  begin  with ;  but  the  rea- 
son I  can  see  her,  or  draw  her  {if  indeed  I  can), 
is  because  I  have  read,  this  morning,  the  ninth 
of  Jeremiah,  and  understand  that  also.  (I 
beg  your  pardon  for  the  vulgar  underlining.) 

I  wrote  these  two  pages,  and  then  went  to 
my  own  work,  rewriting  or  completing  my 
lectures  on  Botticelli  after  my  work  on  him 
in  Rome.  But  it  is  grey  and  thunderous,  and 
I  can't  write,  somehow  —  have  been  awake 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  8i 


since  four,  and  am  tired.  I  walk  to  the  win- 
dow—  there's  a  lovely  little  scene  down  in  the 
valley  beneath  —  steep  down  —  five  hundred 
feet.  I  see  the  bed  of  the  brook  (Tescio)  all 
but  dry;  a  peasant  has  brought  seven  or 
eight  sheep  to  feed  on  the  shrubs  among  the 
stones  of  it ;  and  his  wife  or  daughter  is 
walking  up  to  their  cottage  in  a  white  jacket 
with  brown  petticoat,  carrying  an  amphora 
on  her  head,  and  with  a  Greek  pitcher  in  her 
hand,  full  (I  can  see  almost  into  the  mouth  of 
the  amphora,  I  look  so  steeply  down  with  my 
glass  upon  her). 

"  Such  a  picturesque  figure,  and  so  clas- 
sical, and  of  course  you  '11  sketch  her,"  say 
my  London  acquaintances,  enchanted  at  the 
idea — Charles  Norton  backing  them,  too. 
No,  my  good  acquaintances  and  one  friend,  I 
shall  go  and  explain  to  her  why  the  bed  of 
the  stream  is  dry,  why  the  sheep  have  to 
nibble  among  the  stones  of  it,  and  why  she 
has  to  go  down  to  fill  her  amphora  instead 
of  having  a  fountain  at  her  door.  [Here  a 


82       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


hasty  sketch  of  the  Sacristan's  cell,  with  which 
the  letter  ends.] 

Lucca,  12th  August^  1874. 

Art.  I. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  This  "  Art.  I."  was 
to  be  the  beginning  of  an  art-grammar  for 
a  young  Italian  who  besought  me  at  Assisi 
to  teach  him  something.  In  endeavoring  to 
do  which,  I  have  taught  him  a  little,  but 
myself  much. 

Art.  I.  is  to  be,  in  such  Italian  as  I  can 
manage :  "  Every  light  is  shade  to  higher 
lights ;  and  every  shade  is  light  to  lower 
shades,"  —  from  the  Sun  to  Night,  which 
alone  are  Light  and  Shade  absolute. 

Art.  II.  Every  colour  has  its  own  proper 
darkness ;  that  is  to  say,  as  soon  as  it  can 
be  distinguished  from  darkness,  it  is  distin- 
guished also  from  other  colours.  Therefore, 
you  must  not  shade  any  colour  with  grey,  for 
red  darkened  with  grey  is  not  dark  red,  but  a 
condition  of  purple  ;  and  blue  darkened  with 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  83 


grey  is  not  dark  blue,  but  a  debased  blue, 
and  yellow  darkened  with  grey  is  not  dark 
yellow,  but  a  condition  of  green.  Therefore, 
the  shade  of  every  colour  must  be  the  dark- 
ness of  itself.  Normally,  it  is  the  shade  of  a 
hollow  removed  from  the  influence  of  reflec- 
tion in  a  surface  of  that  colour.  A  deep  fold 
in  red  velvet  is  proper  dark  red ;  and  a  deep 
fold  in  yellow  velvet,  proper  dark  yellow. 

Article  three  is  to  define  red,  blue,  and 
yellow,  and  I  am  in  a  fix  about  dark  yellow, 
or  proper  brown ;  which  is  dreadfully  optical 
and  puzzling. 

I  have  your  letter  in  answer  to  Assisi.  My 
dearest  Charles,  I  never  meant  to  accuse 
you  of  not  considering  the  poor,  or  of  ill- 
management  of  your  own  life.  It  has  been 
an  incomparably  wiser  one  than  mine.  But 
you  are  like  Henry  Morton  remonstrating 
with  Habakkuk  Mucklewrath,  or  Pleydell  pa- 
cifying Dandie — or  as  Lucy  Bertram  to  Meg 
Merrilies. 

I  can't  write  more  to-day. 


84      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Write  —  Hotel  de  TArno,  Florence.  I 'm 
there  for  a  month  yet 

Lucca,  12th  August 
Dearest  Charles,  —  I  sent  you  a  scrawl 
this  morning,  thinking  it  might  amuse  you  a 
little,  and  before  going  to  bed  must  answer 
about  Cimabue. 

Giotto  is  not  dethroned  —  at  least,  not 
diminished  —  in  his  own  real  place,  which  is 
of  human  passion.  In  mystic  and  majestic 
thought,  Cimabue  leads  wholly,  and  the  By- 
zantines generally.  Giotto  and  Taddeo  Gaddi 
are  loving  realists  of  little  things.  The  finest 
thing  of  Giotto's  in  Assisi  is  not  the  "  Pov- 
erty" or  "Chastity,"  but  a  little  group  of  peo- 
ple in  the  street,  looking  at  a  boy  who  has 
just  been  restored  to  life,  after  falling  out  of  a 
three  pair  of  stairs  window.  The  Christ,  St. 
Francis,  and  Charity,  are  all  three  total  fail- 
ures in  the  great  Poverty  Fresco ;  and  in 
the  Charity,  she  herself  and  Fortitude  are 
quite  valueless  ;  while  Obedience  in  the  op- 
posite one  is  monstrous.  But  the  sweetness 


!S--r-!.    VM  , 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  85 


of  a  monk  reading  on  the  grass  while  St. 
Francis  receives  the  stigmata,  and  the  sud- 
den passion  of  a  woman  clasping  her  hands 
and  thanking  God  for  the  boy  brought  to 
life,  are  more  pure  and  exquisite  than  any- 
thing of  the  subsequent  schools. 

I  find  the  Spanish  Chapel  of  boundlessly 
more  importance  than  I  had  imagined.  I 'm 
staying  a  month  longer  in  Italy  for  this  alone, 
hoping  to  draw  Astronomy  and  Logic.  I 
think  the  daring  and  divine  heresy  of  Zo- 
roaster under  Astronomy  —  enclosed  scrawl 
may  remind  you  —  quite  exquisite;  I  can't 
make  out  whose  they  are,  though.  Not  Gaddi 
nor  the  man  called  Simon  Memmi  at  Assisi. 

By  the  way,  geography's  globe  was  di- 
vided thus,  and  is  thus  : '  — 

Here 's  rather  a  pretty  bit  I  wrote  this 
morning  about  the  Music  :  "  Under  her  sits 
Tubalcain,  striking  on  his  anvil  with  two  ham- 

»  Here  a  sketch  showing  the  globe  divided  originally  into 
Asia,  Africa,  and  Europe,  now  into  Asia,  America,  and 
Europe. 


86      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


mers.  But  he  forges  nothing.  He  looks  up 
into  the  air  and  listens.  And  the  sounds  of 
the  sheep  bell  on  the  mountains,  of  the  chime 
and  call  and  lament  on  the  tower,  of  clashed 
cymbal,  thunderous  organ,  far-thrilling  trum- 
pet—  these  he  forges  in  thought,  from  the 
beginning  of  the  world  to  its  Judgment.'' 

Of  course  this  assumes  that  Memmi  mixes 
him  up  with  Jubal  —  on  Giotto's  tower  they 
are  separate.  But  it  is  curious  that  at  Pe- 
rugia, the  other  day,  I  heard  the  only  bit  of 
fine  choral  singing  I  ever  heard  given  in  a 
free-hearted  way  in  Italy  —  out  of  a  smithy, 
timed  to  the  hammers  —  "  harmonious  black- 
smith "  to  purpose,  but  very  different  from 
Handel's;  this  was  a  really  grand,  slow  chant. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  R. 

Lucca,  Feast  of  the  Assumption. 
My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  am  writing  my 
account  of  Giotto's  "  Poverty,"  for  you,  and 
for  others  who  care  for  it  —  and  was  getting 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  87 


into  some  feeling  and  power  with  it,  when 
I  was  entirely  stopped  and  paralyzed  by  a  ^ 
steam  whistle  at  the  railway,  sent  clear 
through  intensely  calm  and  watery  air  at 
intervals  of  about  a  quarter  of  a  minute  for 
the  last  quarter  of  an  hour — a  sharp,  intense, 
momentary  explosive  whistle,  like  a  mocking 
Devil  playing  the  "  Lucca  trumpet "  in  a  high 
key  —  the  most  torturing  and  base  thing 
that  in  all  my  St.  Anthony  times  has  hap- 
pened to  me.  It  comes  every  morning  at 
my  best  worktime,  and  at  midnight  —  it  is  a 
luggage  train  which  can't  make  up  its  mind  to 
anything,  and  whistles  at  every  new  idea  that 
strikes  it. 

If  you  can  read  "  Fors,"  —  which  I  don't 
believe  you  do,  —  look  at  the  bit  I  am  writ- 
ing —  it  will  be  the  end  of  the  "  Squires  " 
"  Fors,"  for  September.  I  stopped  to  write 
this  to  you  at  the  words,  "  Charity  is  wound 
with  white  roses,  which  burst  as  they  open 
into  flames  of  fire."  And  the  whistle  of  the 
Lucca  devil  is  going  on  all  this  time. 


88       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


I  meant  to  have  written  to  you  at  any  rate, 
to  say  that  I  can't  think  what  I  wrote  to  put 
you  on  the  self-defensive,  to  that  extent, 
in  this  last  letter.  My  dearest  Charles,  I 
never  said  that  you  ought  to  live,  or  think, 
otherwise  than  you  do;  I  am  only  pained 
because  you  think  /  ought.  I  wish  you  en- 
joyed "  Fors,"  and  looked  for  it,  and  saw  some- 
thing more  in  it  than  a  "  monthly  letter."  I 
wish  also  you  knew  a  little  more  the  change 
there  is  upon  me  —  unfitting  for  any  other 
work  —  fitting  me,  I  think,  very  definitely 
for  this. .  .  .  Don't  you  see  that  one  must 
feel  "  grim  "  to  the  full  extent  of  "  Fors ; "  and 
it 's  of  no  use  to  say  one  ought  n't  or  that  that 
"isn't  the  right  method "? 

Ever  your  loving 

J.R. 

Lucca,  i8th  August,  1874. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  As  soon  as  you 
get  the  illustrated  "  Val  d'  Arno  "  you  will  be 
interested  by  the  plate  of  Niccolo's  Madonna, 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  89 


and  some  others;  I  hope  also  by  the  dis- 
tinction between  "  Greeks  and  Greeks "  of 
the  Baptistery  font. 

I 've  found  it  all  out  now.  The  effete 
Greek  of  St.  John  Lateran  is  real  Byzantine 
—  polluted  at  Rome  to  its  death. 

The  Font  of  Pisa  is  native  Etruscan.  So  is 
that  of  Pistoja.  So  are  the  masons  of  Como, 
who  formed  the  Free  masons.  The  race  has 
held  its  own  to  this  day ;  one  of  them  drove 
me  last  night,  with  the  same  black  eyes  that 
are  inlaid  on  the  Font  of  Pisa,  —  the  same 
sharp,  ridged  nose,  a  breast  like  a  Hercules, — 
and  he  drove  (and  drives  every  evening  if  I 
would  let  him)  like  Auriga,  before  he  died  for 
his  kiss.  The  infallible  mark  of  the  race  and 
style  in  the  sculpture  is  straight  hair  carved 
in  ridges  like  a  ploughed  field. 

I  have  here,  side  by  side  in  the  porch  of 
the  Duomo,  Niccolo  Pisano's  first  (known) 
sculpture  (the  Deposition)  and  an  Etruscan 
reaper  (June),  with  his  straight  hair  and 
inlaid  black  eyes.  He  and  February  are  the 


90      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


only  ones  who  have  their  heads  left,  for 
modern  Italy,  taught  by  America,  considers 
it  "  the  thing  "  to  knock  off  heads,  and  the 
schoolboys  rarely  pass  the  porch  without 
throwing  a  stone  or  two  at  it.  (The  great 
thing  to  do  is  to  knock  off  the  nose ;  but  that 
is  not  always  possible  when  the  sculpture  is 
high  up.) 

Niccolo  has  the  bossy  hair  of  the  Greek 
Jupiter  for  everybody,  and  his  great  points 
in  the  Deposition  are  pulling  out  the  nails 
with  the  pincers,  and  supporting  the  weight 
of  the  body  as  it  falls.  You  will  see  in  a 
moment  how  much  follows  from  this,  the 
Etruscan  never  losing  his  contemplative  re- 
ligious habit,  and  caring  nothing  whatever 
about  Weight  going  down,  but  only  about 
Spirit  going  up,  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
Niccolo,  with  those  pincers  pulling  the  nail 
out,  laid  hold  of  the  entire  scheme  of  material 
and  naturalistic  art,  good  and  bad ;  and 
with  the  arm  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  catch- 
ing the  {dead)  body  of  Christ,  embraced 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  91 


Michael  Angelo  and  Rubens  and  all  that 
they  are,  and  mean. 

My  Etruscan  drives  me  every  evening  to 
a  valley  which  is  entered  through  a  glade  of 
Spanish  chestnuts,  like  that  in  the  Cephalus 
and  Procris;  then  the  path  goes  over  and 
under  rocks  of  the  hardest  marble  I  ever 
struck,  into  groves  of  olive,  which  go  up  and 
up  the  hillside,  for  which  the  Pisans  can't  see 
Lucca,'  but  from  which,  on  this  side  of  them, 
I  see  as  I  climb,  the  Carrara  mountains  in 
their  purple,  and  Lucca  lying  like  a  crown 
of  gold  on  the  Etruscan  plain. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  R. 

Florence,  21st  August,  1874. 
My  dearest  Charles,  —  My  discovery  of 
this  native  Etruscan  element  has  so  beauti- 
fully cleared  and  composed  my  scheme  given 

*  — al  monte 
Per  che  i  Pisan  veder  Lucca  non  ponno. 

Inferno,  xxxiii.  30. 


92      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


in  2nd  "Ariadne"  that  I  can't  help — partly  in 
exultation,  and  partly  because  I  think  you  '11 
like  it  —  stopping  in  my  sketching  out  notes 
for  next  October's  lectures  on  Arnolfo  and 
Brunellesco,  to  give  you  the  form  they  have 
taken. 

School  of  1 200. 

Chartres  Cathedral  —  North. 

Monreale  —  South. 

Font  of  Pisa.  (Etruscan)  —  Centralized. 
Still  all  in  a  certain  sense  savage  and 
Pagan.  Broken  in  upon  by  Niccolo  Pisano. 

Then  the  Three  Great  Successive  Christian 
Schools: 

A.  Arnolfo's  and  Dante's.  Christian  or  Pure 

Gothic,  Type  —  St.  Paul's  tomb  under 
the  12th  century  form  of  basilica.  The 
Gothic  School  is  entirely  Faithful  and 
imaginative. 

B.  Brunellesco's.  Christian  or  Pure  Classic, 

The  Classic  School,  nobly  naturalist  — 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  93 


beginning  to  try  its  faith  and  rule  level 
lines. 

C.  Perugino's.  Christian  or  Pure  Romantic, 
Horatius  Cocles  —  Cincinnatus  —  St 
Michael — Madonna — all  seen  through 
Christian  Iris  of  colour. 
Luini,  Bellini,  Botticelli. 
(When  I  send  you  a  photograph  of  my 
Zipporah  (she 's  really  come  nicely)  it  will 
explain  to  anybody  with  eyes;   of  course 
you'll  see  it  (I  mean  how  pat  and  pretty 
it  comes)  without  wanting  Zipporah.) 

Then  —  chivalry  expiring  —  we  get  sur- 
gery and  optics  —  Michael  Angelo  and  Leo- 
nardo. .  .  . 

Florence,  23rd  August^  1874. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  *m  in  the  Hotel 
d'  Arno,  itself  a  palace  once,  opposite  (street 
only  10  feet  wide)  one  of  the  grandest  of  the 
old  towers,  with  a  mason's  shop  in  the  bot- 
tom of  it.  .  .  . 


94      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


But  that  is  not  the  point ;  I  Ve  just  done 
such  a  lovely  bit  —  to  my  own  fancy — of 
notes  for  lectures  on  Contemplative  and 
Dramatic,  that  I  must  just  scratch  it  over  the 
Atlantic  to  you.  You  see,  Lord  Lindsay 
always  talks  of  Contemplative  and  Dramatic, 
without  observing  that  the  nobleness  of  each 
school  is  in  what  you  Contemplate  and  what 
you  do.  You  Contemplate  a  "  Lemon  Peel 
and  Pigs,"  if  you  're  a  Dutchman,  and  a 
Maesta  of  Cimabue,  if  you  're  an  Etruscan. 
You  have  for  Drama  —  at  present  in  Naples 
—  a  policeman  catching  two  parties  who  are 
chopping  up  a  child.  Or  you  have  —  of  old 
in  Pisa  —  The  Last  Judgment. 

But  of  all  the  loveliest  bits  of  acutely 
piquant  drama  of  the  loveliest  sort,  I  think  the 
one  in  the  Spanish  chapel  beats.  We  have 
our  modern  dramas  of  Court  Introduction, 
"  The  Queen  receiving  the  Princess  Alex- 
andrina,  or  Russymutchka,  or  whatever  she 
may  be ;  His  Royal  Highness,  the  Prince 
of  Wales  receiving  the  Lord  Mayor  and  Lady 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  95 


Mayoress,  etc.,  etc."  But  of  all  piquant  In- 
troductions, here's  the  acutest — "Eve  in- 
troduced to  Christ,  with  the  Devil  looking 
on." 

Simon  has  done  it,  oh,  so  prettily! 

Ever  your  loving 

J.R. 

Florence,  26th  August^  1874. 
Dearest  Charles,  —  I  am  not  without 
hope  of  a  change  in  your  thoughts  about 
"  Fors  "  and  all  my  work,  as  you  read  the 
concluding  letters  of  this  year,  especially  one 
I 've  been  writing  to-day,  after  returning  last 
night  from  the  Badia  of  Fesole,  which  I  thank- 
fully found  uninjured  —  wholly  uninjured  in 
adjunct  and  fact,  and  with  only  one  sign  of 
modern  Florentine  life  on  it  —  a  pencil  scrawl 
on  one  of  the  pieces  of  its  white  inlaid  mar- 
ble, of  which  I  will  tell  you  another  day ;  to- 
day I  only  want  to  say  that  it  must  have 
seemed  to  you  I  had  only  half  read  your  let- 
ter by  not  asking  you  to  send  the  St.  Buona- 


96       LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Ventura  life/  Please  do,  to  Oxford  when  I 
get  there  this  October ;  this  morning  I  en- 
quired for  those  you  tell  me  of,  —  the  Fioretti 
and  Fra  Jacopone,  and  quote  the  "  utile  e  hu- 
mile  e  pretiosa  e  casta,"  appropriately  watch- 
ing the  people  getting  up  on  the  other  side 
of  Arno  and  throwing  their  slops  out  of  win- 
dow with  great  crashes  into  the  river,  occa- 
sional drifts  of  spray  in  the  descent  —  as  of 
the  Staubbach  —  into  their  neighbours'  win- 
dows —  occurring  under  the  sublime  influ- 
ences of  a  thunderous  and  fitful  wind. 

"  And  the  Spirit  of  God  moved  on  the  face 
of  the  waters." 

Cimabue's  "  Creation  "  at  Assisi  is  the  sum 
and  substance  of  all  others.  God  the  Father 
in  a  circle  of  closely  set,  crowded,  infusorial 
Angels ;  beneath  them  the  Dove  —  beauti- 
fully drawn  —  in  profile,  not  [a  slight  sketch], 
but  [another  sketch]  (Goodness  —  that  I 
can't  draw  it !) ;  then  Christ  descending  in 

*  The  Life  of  St.  Francis,  by  St.  Buenaventura,  which 
Ruskin  had  not  read. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  97 


the  form  of  Man;  and  the  waters  below 
beginning  to  take  order  under  them ;  and 
the  successive  events  then  all  crowded 
below. 

I  am  more  and  more  crushed  every  day 
under  the  stupendous  power  of  Botticelli. 
But  he  is  always  —  even  at  his  grandest  —  a 
rapturous  dreamer,  or  thoughtful,  disciplined, 
practical  reformer,  while  Cimabue  lives  in 
the  solemn  presence  of  the  Maesta  of  God 
and  the  Virgin  —  the  last  of  the  great  Greeks. 
But  Botticelli  —  there  are  no  words  for  his 
imagination,  solemnity  of  purpose,  artis- 
tic rapture,  in  all  divinely  artistic  things; 
mightier  in  chiaroscuro  than  Correggio, 
brighter  in  jewellry  than  Angelico ;  abun- 
dant like  Tintoret,  and  intent  on  completion 
like  Leonardo  —  I  never  saw  or  thought  such 
things  possible  till  I  went  into  the  Academy 
delle  Belle  Arti  this  last  time, 
Ever  your  loving 

J.  RUSKIN. 

P.  S.  That  dove 's  wrong,  after  all.  Cima- 


98      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


bue's  wings  go  up  [sketch].  I  confuse  things 
now  in  a  day,  if  I  don't  put  them  down 
instantly. 

Florence,  7th  September^  1874. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  Tm  writing  "  A 
Walk  in  Florence,"  for  the  English  Respect- 
able Tourist!  —  explaining  to  him  Giotto's 
frescoes  of  St.  Francis  in  Sta,  Croce,  and  the 
Gospel  of  Works ;  and  Simon  Memmi's  fres- 
coes of  St.  Dominic  and  the  Gospel  of  Faith. 
And  I 'm  very  much  pleased  with  my  own 
bit  of  work  as  it 's  coming ;  only  I 've  so 
much  drawing  to  do.  I 'm  drawing  Astro- 
nomy, and  Music,  and  Logic,  and  Gram- 
mar telling  little  Florentine  boys  and  girls 
to  enter  in  at  the  straight  gate  (which  really 
is  too  straight  to  be  comfortable,  as  well  as 
Grammar's  own  stays),  and  the  Emperor, 
and  the  King,  and  Botticelli's  Spring's 
ankle  among  the  daisies ;  and  I 've  enough 
to  do. 

But  in  my  account  of  the  Gospel  of  Faith, 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  99 


I 'm  going  to  quote  Lowell's  St.  Ambrose, 
but  with  the  proper  contrary  of  John  Bun- 
yan's  Presumption's  "  Every  vat  must  stand 
on  its  own  bottom,"  and  I 'm  going  to  finish 
with  this :  "  At  least,  you  must  be  sure  that 
you  are  a  vase  of  crystal  being  filled  by  an 
angel  with  water  of  life,  and  not  a  gobbling 
little  fish  wagging  your  tail  in  a  drain." 

I 've  had  such  a  time  of  it  with  Donatello 
and  Luca  and  all  the  unfinished  M.  Angelos 
to-day  in  the  National  Museum. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.R. 

Florence,  i6th  September^  '74. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I 've  been  writing 
myself  sick,  not  with  fatigue,  but  interest,  in 
describing  the  frescoes  of  Spanish  chapel  this 
morning,  and  must  be  off  to  my  work  on 
them  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  but  I  have  your 
letter  and  its  scented  herb,  —  very  grateful 
to  me,  —  and  the  writing  is  for  three  cheap 
Walks  or  Mornings  in  Florence  with  which  I 


100      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


hope  to  cut  out  Mr.  Murray  a  little  this  win- 
ter. First  Morning,  Sta.  Croce  and  Gospel 
of  Works.  Second,  the  Spanish  chapel,  and 
Gospel  of  Faith.  Third,  Mio  del  San  Gio- 
vanni, Please  tell  me  over  again  what  you 
told  me  about  Dominican  buildings,  in  San 
Domenico  of  Siena;  it  has  got  fuzzy  in  my 
head  (not  in  my  heart). 

I  send  you  three  scrawls  drawn  on  a  ladder 
from  the  "June"  at  Lucca,  —  pure,  native 
Etruscan  work,  of  I2th-i3th  century  — 
you  '11  see  what  they  mean ;  you  Ve  got  my 
letter  about  them  by  this  time,  I  hope.  I 
was  too  sanguine  about  noses  —  only  Febru- 
ary's nose  is  left  now,  of  all  the  months.  The 
"  divine  in  all  men  exercise  of  the  Will,"  ac- 
cording to  Mr.  Lowell,  has  produced  that 
effect  on  them. 

What  an  intensely  simple  fellow  Lowell  is! 
Read  his  paragraph  about  "  Race  ■'  in  "  My 
Study  Windows,"  written  in  the  vain  hope  of 
establishing  America  as  a  nation.  I  saw  a 
wall  scratched  down  its  new  plaster  here  at 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  loi 


Mont'  Oliveto  the  day  before  yesterday,  with 
a  pattern  out  of  the  village  mason's  head, 
Greek  —  eighth  century  e.  c.  pure  —  and 
without  a  flaw  in  the  genealogy,  as  I  can 
prove. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.R. 

Lucca,  zist  September. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  Coming  here  this 
evening,  —  dog,  cat,  and  mouse-tired  with 
trying  to  draw  the  Etruscan  sculpture  on 
the  font  of  Pistoia  —  I  found  your  dear  little 
note.  ...  I  had  been  writing  in  the  morn- 
ing a  piece  a  little  making  amends  to  Giotto, 
as  I  hope  you  will  think,  about  four  frescoes 
I  have  found,  which  nobody  knows  anything 
of,  in  a  back  cloister  of  Santa  Maria  No- 
vella. .  .  . 

It  is  a  very  difficult  question,  that  about 
doing  one's  best.  Here  in  a  month  at  Flor- 
ence I 've  drawn  Grammar,  Logic,  Astro- 
nomy, Zoroaster,  Tubalcain,  the  Pope,  the 


102      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Emperor,  Eve,  St.  Agnes,  Practical  Religion, 
and  a  "found  sheep,"  all  in  a  very  second 
or  third  best  way. 

If  I  had  done  my  best,  I  could  only  have 
drawn  one  figure  in  the  time.  It  is  true  it 
would  have  been  worth  more  than  the  whole 
eleven,  but  I  should  not  have  learned  the 
eleventh  part  of  what  I  have,  nor  been  able 
to  prove  what  I  now  can,  that  poor  old  Va- 
sari  is  entirely  right  in  his  account  of  that 
chapel. 

The  best  thing  I  got  in  Florence,  however, 
was  a  quick,  early  morning  sketch  of  the 
woman  and  the  man-child  in  Giotto's  Apoca- 
lypse. 

H6TEL  Du  Mont  Blanc,  St.  Martin's, 
1 2th  October,  1874,  one  p.  m. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  received  your 
letter  of  the  i8th  September  three  hours 
since,  as  I  sate,  after  a  quiet  morning's  work 
on  Walter  Scott,  breakfasting  in  my  father's 
room,  with  Mont  Blanc  grey  against  the 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  103 


dazzling  white  eastern  light  of  perfect  autumn 
morning. 

No  plank,  no  stone,  no  garden  litter,  no 
cottage  roof,  has  been  stirred,  so  far  as  I  can 
see,  in  all  this  village,  since  our  morning 
walk  [in  1856]. 

This  village,  observe.  Sallenche  is  entirely 
spoiled,  in  the  open  part  of  it ;  but  the 
dingle  and  all  the  hills  are  absolutely  un- 
changed. The  trees  don't  seem  to  me  to 
have  grown.  It  is  like  a  miracle  or  a 
dream. 

I  saw  Sirius  rise  over  Mont  Blanc  last 
night  at  half  past  one,  like  Agamemnon's 
beacon,  Orion  above,  blazing  like  a  fixed 
flash  of  lightning.  All  star-lights  in  Italy  as 
of  mere  star-dust  and  faded  thrones,  in  com- 
parison. 

And  I  am  quiet  here,  —  for  the  first  time 
these  six  months,  —  and  after  the  faces  of 
what  is  now  average  humanity  in  Florence, 
the  face  of  the  worst  cretin  here  is  as  the 
face  of  an  angel  in  its  innocence  and  pitiable, 


104     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


indeed,  but  not  hateful,  fatuity.  The  withered- 
apple  Savoyard  of  average  honest  heart  and 
quiet  spirit — lovely  and  divine.  The  horror  of 
those  Itahan  towns  now  is  unutterable. 

I  am  r^-writing  my  glacier  lectures,  and 
much  more,  in  days  of  cloudless  sunshine, 
one  after  another  from  dawn,  and  golden 
autumn  morning  over  blue  mist,  to  rose- 
purple  sunset.  .  .  . 

Yes,  I  have  n't  been  thinking  of  Eastern 
Italy.  I  don't  know  the  Ravenna  part  of  it; 
and  I  call  Venice  —  Venice,  and  nobody 
else.  She 's  no  more  Italy  than  I  am.  She 
won't  fit  in  but  in  a  world  scheme.  (Don't 
think  I 've  modified,  anyhow,  my  notion  in 
the  different  titles  given  to  the  schools  in 
my  coming  lectures,  —  they  are  only  a  partial 
glance  in  one  direction.) 

Thanks  for  all  you  say  of  "  Fors."  Very 
solemn  things  are  happening  to  me.  You  see 
how  my  mind  is  leading  me  to  a  personal 
effort,  made  in  simple  life.  I  have  also 
been  spending  and  losing  money  at  a  great 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  105 


rate  in  these  last  years,  and  must  now  live 
—  not  extravagantly. 

I  can't  think  how  this  horrid  leaf  got 
crushed.  I  can't  write  on  it  what  I  want  — 
must  enclose  another  which  will  show  you 
I 've  enough  to  think  on,  and  decide.  Mean- 
time, I 'm  writing,  as  I  told  you,  on  glaciers, 
and  am  ever  your 

Loving 

J.  R. 

Also  you  see  in  "Fors"  how  all  my  thoughts 
are  bent  on  certain  spiritual  problems,  only  to 
be  approached  in,  I  don't  say  monastic,  but 
at  all  events  secluded  life.  These,  I  believe, 
you  think  only  morbid  remnants  of  old  days. 
It  may  be  so.  I  should  not  be  sad,  if  I  did 
not  feel  thus.  But  they  are  still,  you  see, 
questions  to  me,  and  now  getting  impera- 
tive. 

1 11  soon  write  again.  I 'm  always  thinking 
of  sending  you  things,  never  doing  it  — 
wretch  that  I  am !  I 've  a  great  plan  of 
sending  now. 


io6     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


St.  Martin's  —  Evening. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  The  enclosed 
scrawl  (tired  in  stupidity  and  writing  both) 
may  yet  show  you  I  was  thinking  of  you.  It 
was  kept  to  carry  news  also  of  my  last  bit 
of  work  in  Florence,  getting  the  bas-reliefs 
photographed  on  tower  of  Giotto.  I  never 
did  anything  more  useful. 

I  have  ordered  a  complete  set  to  be  sent 
to  you.  ... 

You  will  see  in  an  instant  how  precious 
they  are.  The  Astronomy  seeing  through 
the  vault  of  heaven  to  the  Spirits  of  it,  to 
my  (intolerable,  almost)  humiliation  had  es- 
caped me,  in  the  bas-relief  itself.  The  Her- 
cules and  Antaeus,  if  you  remember  with  it 
that  of  Pollajuolo  in  the  Uffizi,  —  in  which 
they  are  two  exhausted  wrestlers,  H.  himself 
at  the  last  gasp  but  one,  and  A.  at  the  one, 
—  is  the  most  striking  type  of  the  glory  of 
Contemplative  against  Anatomical  (always,  I 
mean)  Drama  that  I  have  yet  got  hold  of. 
Turner  would  have  given  the  Drama,  but 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  107 


otherwise  than  Pollajuolo.  The  hiding  of 
half  the  body  by  the  earth  —  the  soft,  uncon- 
vulsed  death  —  how  beautiful  —  in  Giotto's 
(or  Andrea's) ! 

I 've  done  a  furious  six  months'  work. 
Went  south  through  Cenis  tunnel  on  4th  of 
April,  back  through  it  on  4th  of  October. 
Here  since  the  6th,  or  at  Chamouni,  in 
cloudless  calm.  I  saw  my  old  guide  —  80, 
from  69  when  last  seen.  A  beautiful  old 
man. 

The  Glacier  des  Bois  is  no  more.  Of  thatv 
of  our  days  is  left  a  little  white  tongue  of 
ice  showing  in  the  blank  bed.  ...  But  the 
saddest  of  all  is  Mont  Blanc  itself  from  here 
— it  is,  to  what  it  was,  as  a  mere  whitewashed 
wall  to  a  bridecake.  When  the  snow  is  level 
nearly,  it  holds  on  pretty  well,  but  on  the 
steep  Bionnassay  valley  it  has  all  flowed  down 
and  consumed  away. 

I  have  much  to  think  of  in  this  little  room 
—  of  things  that  are  as  that  snow. 


io8      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Brantwood,  Coniston,  Lancashire, 
Last  day  of  1874,  sun  just  down. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  cannot  employ 
the  last  busy  hour  of  1874  better  than  in 
sending  you  my  love.  I  have  been  looking 
out  a  few  fragments  of  memoranda  which 
may  be  interesting  to  you,  enabling  you  to 
show  people  who  care,  how  the  work  was 
done  for  the  Stones  of  Venice ;  there 's  a 
little  bit  of  brown  cave  bone  which  I  drew 
for  the  heads  of  extinct  animals  on  it,  one 
.  day  beside  Richard  Owen ;  a  blot  from  Tin- 
toret's  Annunciation  (I  wish  I  had  done  more 
of  these),  and  finally  a  little  pen  sketch  of 
Edward  Frere,  on  a  letter  to  Gambart. 

I  am  gradually  putting  my  things  into 
some  order,  I  hope,  and  going  over  what  can 
be  turned  to  any  good.  I  Ve  been  reading 
your  notes  on  third  Volume  of  "  Modern 
Painters  "  this  afternoon,  of  which  I  chiefly 
concur  in  the  frequent  one,  "  All  this  needs 
modification."  Which  I  fear  me  it  can  never 
get.  Perhaps  a  single  volume  of  Aphorisms 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  109 


may  be  possible  to  me,  when  I 've  done  Ox- 
ford work,  telling  all  I  know. 

You  rebel  abominably  against  my  great 
chapter  about  Lawlessness.  You  know  it  is 
all  summable  in  a  sentence  :  "  There  can  be 
no  rule  for  doing  what  cannot  be  done 
twice." 

Well,  here 's  more  love  to  you.  Bitter,  but 
bright,  frost  here,  makes  me  fancy  it  must  be 
like  there. 

Ever  your  loving 

John  Ruskin. 

Ashbourne,  Derbyshire, 
27th  January,  1875. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  think  I  sent 
some  sort  of  an  answer  to  yours  of  November 
9th.  Perhaps  not;  for,  as  you  feared,  I  had 
rather  a  bad  time  just  then,  .  .  .  and  was 
again  somewhat  seriously  injured  in  health, 
going  down  to  Brantwood  in  a  state  of  torpor 
and  feebleness  from  which  I  am  but  now 
slowly  recovering. 


no     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


I  write  to-day  to  tell  you  what  may  be  of 
some  value  to  you.  The  "  Cockayne  "  tombs 
in  the  church  here  are  of  elaborate  15th  cen- 
tury and  Elizabethan  work,  and  consist  of 
recumbent  figures  on  raised  sarcophagi  sur- 
rounded by  niches,  correspondent  in  design 
to  the  first  Italian  and  French  tombs,  but 
so  barbarous,  ludicrous,  and  helpless  in  all 
the  actual  sculpture,  so  stupid  in  their  sav- 
ageness,  that  I  feel  compelled  at  once  by 
them  to  read  in  a  different  light  great  part 
of  our  English  history  and  Hterature.  That 
any  noble  family,  even  in  the  remotest  coun- 
try place,  should  be  such  baboons  as  to  put 
up  these  tombs  in  Donatello's  time,  is  quite 
appalling  to  me.  Also,  measuring  my  strength 
and  circumstances,  and  possible  time,  it  seems 
to  me  now  expedient  to  trouble  myself  no 
more  with  history,  mythology,  or  literature, 
but  to  concentrate  myself  on  what  I  have 
peculiar  gift  for  —  natural  history,  including 
sky  (not  that  we  Ve  much  left  of  that  in 
England),  in  connection  with  Turner's  work 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  in 


only,  and  so  end  as  I  began.  I  much  and 
bitterly  regret  that  I  cannot  go  on  doing 
fresco  copies  of  the  greater  Italians;  but  this 
would  involve,  I  think,  as  I  get  older,  too 
much  effort,  sorrow,  and  disappointment,  to 
be  consistent  with  my  health. 

I  have  not  yet  acknowledged  the  receipt 
of  your  catalogue  and  admirable  illustrations 
of  the  Liber:  nothing  could  possibly  be 
better.  But  I  do  not  believe  you  will  ever 
have  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  any  result  of 
your  labours  in  America.  There  is  not  a 
tree  of  Turner's  which  is  not  rooted  in  ruins ; 
there  is  no  sunset  of  his  which  does  not  set 
on  the  accomplished  fate  of  the  elder  na- 
tions. 

I  have  been  thinking  much  of  my  por- 
trait. In  the  autobiography  which  will  de- 
velop, I  hope,  in  "  Fors,"  into  something  more 
interesting  than  I  had  expected  (for  as  I 
think  over  it  much  becomes  interesting  to 
myself  which  I  once  despised),  I  am  per- 
haps going  to  try  to  give  a  portrait  or  two, 


112     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


and  may  end  with  myself.  But  at  present 
I 'm  busy  on  saxifrage  and  stone-crop. 

My  best  love  to  you  all — particularly  to 
S.  And  I  am 

Your  loving 

J.R. 

All  you  said  about  my  being  among 
wrong  sort  of  people  has  come  home  to  me 
in  a  deadly  way  lately.  I  have  been  an  infi- 
nite ass  to  let  myself  drift  as  I  have. 

Herne  Hill,  13th  February^  1875. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  If  I  don't  an- 
swer your  letters  on  the  instant,  months  go 
by  somehow,  so  I  send  scrawl  at  once. 
How  you  can  find  so  much  art  in  those 
old  sketches  of  mine  I  can't  think;  but  as 
it  is  so,  I  '11  look  you  out  more  at  once.  I 
am,  in  fact,  putting  things,  as  much  as  I 
can  now,  where  I  think  they  should  be  if 
I  went  where  last  year's  roses  are,  —  not 
that  I 'm  at  all  beaten  yet,  but  I 'm  fifty- 
six  ;  and  strongly  emotional  lives  with  much 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  113 


disgust  at  the  end  of  them  are  not  good 
at  insurance  offices.  .  .  .  The  deadliest  of  all 
things  to  me  is  my  loss  of  faith  in  nature. 
No  spring  —  no  summer.  Fog  always,  and 
the  snow  faded  from  the  Alps.  But  even 
through  all  this  I  can  fight  yet,  if  I  can 
only  carry  on  with  rhubarb  pills  instead  of 
a  stomach.  Grief  kills  me,  not  by  its  own 
strength,  but  by  indigestion. 

I  think  you  will  be  pleased,  however,  with 
my  Italian  work,  which  will  soon  now  come 
to  you.  My  botany  also  pleases  me,  and  I 
expect  "  Fors  "  will  have  much  that  interests 
you  this  year. 

All  that  was  so  terrifically  true  you  wrote 
about  my  friends  being  not  fit  for  me  —  but 
it  s  difficult  to  make  new  ones.  .  .  .  But  really, 
the  one  thing  that  I  physically  want  is  one 
of  those  Graces  out  of  Botticelli's  picture  of 
the  Spring.  I  can't  make  out  how  that  con- 
founded fellow  was  able  to  see  such  pretty 
things,  or  how  he  lived  among  them. 

I  hope  Allen  has  sent  you  the  fifth  "  Ari- 


114     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


adne,"  and  will  soon  have  sixth  out  —  but 
press  correction  hurts  me  more  than  any 
other  work. 

Bother  your  Parthenon.  I 'm  really  sick 
of  that  one  thing  the  Greeks  did  in  archi- 
tecture. I  was  in  Westminster  the  other  day 
—  thought  it  finer  than  ever.  But  how  can 
I  help  you  in  your  work?  It  seems  to  me 
as  if  you  gave  all  sympathy  to  me,  and  I 
none  to  you.  I  never  feel  so  selfish  in  any 
other  relation  as  I  do  in  all  mine  with  you ; 
but  am 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Brantwood,  Coniston,  Lancashire, 
25th  March^  1875. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  was  so  glad 
to  see  your  hand,  having  got  anxious  about 
you  ;  and,  with  all  that  is  distasteful  in  it, 
your  letter  is  gladdening  to  me,  in  one  way, 
more  than  usual,  —  in  its  showing  the  long- 
ing to  be  back  in  our  old  country.  That 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  115 


you  and  I,  with  our  insights  and  will  to  help 
people,  should  both  be  obliged  to  econo- 
mies (I  have  not  bought  a  Turner  for  years 
and  miss  the  most  lovely  things  in  MSS. 
continually),  —  while  any  rogue  with  a  glib 
tongue  and  cool  head  gets  his  100,000  a 
year,  is  not  one  of  the  least  causes  of  my 
writing  of  political  economy  instead  of  art, 
—  useless,  at  present,  the  last,  in  our  coun- 
try, as  in  yours. 

But  nothing  would  beat  me  except  the 
plague  of  darkness  and  blighting  winds, — 
perpetual  —  awful,  —  crushing  me  with  the 
sense  of  Nature  and  Heaven  failing  as  well 
as  man. 

I  have  also  been  singularly  weak  and  ill 
all  this  spring,  and  am  obliged  to  take  warn- 
ing of  many  things,  and  give  up  some  of 
the  most  pet  possessions  of  hope.  But  many 
things  are  over,  for  me,  altogether.  My  addi- 
tional years  begin  to  tell  now  in  the  fatal 
sense  of  there  being  no  time  to  try  anything 
again. 


ii6     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


I  want  to  answer  on  the  day  I  get  your 
letter,  and  am  too  stupid  to  write  more. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.R. 

Two  months  after  the  preceding  letter 
was  written,  the  death  of  Miss  LaTouche,  the 
woman  to  whom  Ruskin's  heart  had  for  many 
years  been  devoted,  closed  for  him  a  period 
of  alternate  hopefulness  and  disappointment 
which  had  kept  him  in  a  constant  state  of 
restless  and  exhausting  emotion.  It  was  a 
sad  story  from  beginning  to  end.  She  died 
worn  out  by  the  stress  of  the  conflict  between 
her  heart  and  her  conscience,  and  he  was 
left  hurt  with  wounds  that  were  little  short 
of  mortal. 

Brantwood,  Coniston,  Lancashire, 
15th  July^  1875. 

Dearest  Charles, —  I  have  not  been  writ- 
ing, because  that  death,  as  you  so  well  un- 
derstand, has  made  so  much  of  my  past  life 
at  once  dead  weight  to  me  that  I  feel  as  I 
did  when  I  first  got  out  of  bed  after  my  illness 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  117 


at  Matlock/  as  if  my  limbs  were  of  lead  — 
mentally  and  bodily.  This  is  so  with  me  just 
now,  and  I  only  fight  through  by  going  on 
with  mechanical  work  all  I  can — but  the  effect 
on  my  general  health  has  been  very  paralyz- 
ing, and  it  was  no  use  writing  about  it ;  also, 
my  work  has  now  at  once  and  in  all  things 
taken  the  form  of  bequest,  and  I  am  review- 
ing old  notes,  drawings,  etc.,  etc.,  and  being 
my  own  executor  as  much  as  I  can  .  .  .  and 
writing,  if  I  can,  some  things  that  I  want  to 
say  before  ending  —  not  that  I  definitely  ex- 
pect to  end  yet ;  and  to  the  public  I  keep  my 
head  above  water  as  if  I  had  no  cramp ;  hith- 
erto, at  least,  I  think  so.  My  literary  work 
seems  to  me  up  to  its  usual  mark.  .  .  . 
"  Proserpina "  is  liked,  and  "  Deucalion," 
which  will  have  all  my  geology  swept  up  in 
it,  is  liking  to  myself.  If  only  I  can  keep  my 
stomach  in  order. 

Now,  about  the  bust.  I  send  you  photo- 
graphs of  Carlyle,*  but  they  are  miserable. 

*  In  the  summer  of  1871.    *  Of  Boehm's  statue  of  Carlyle. 


ii8     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Perspective  of  feet  of  course  ridiculous,  and 
all  the  subtlety  of  face  lost.  But  Boehm  is  a 
jewel,  not  a  Jew.  A  perfect  type  of  intense 
blue-eyed,  Harz-bred  Germany.  I  hope  he 
will  like  me,  and  ask  to  do  me,  —  that  will 
be  ever  so  much  better  than  if  I  asked  him, 
or  you  either.  But  if  he  does  n*t  I  will. .  .  . 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  R. 

Brantwood,  Coniston,  Lancashire, 
17th  September,  1875. 

Dearest  Charles,  —  Little  deserving  a 
letter,  I  greatly  weary  for  one.  The  summer 
is  past,  and  the  dark  days  are  darker  to  me 
than  ever  yet,  and  fly  faster.  But  I  have  done 
a  little  leaf-drawing  and  Turner  drawing  in 
my  old  way  which  may  please  you  a  little, 
and  I  Ve  been  trying  to  get  photos  of  the 
Italian  book  for  you,  but  they  will  not  come 
rightly ;  a  very  little  darkening  of  the  shade 
vulgarizes  all.  And  in  all  ways  I  am  disap- 
pointed and  failing,  yet  still  I  hope  advan- 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  119 


cing  in  main  battle.  Only  you  don't  care 
about  my  main  battle.  .  .  . 

My  old  work  haunts  me.  I  don't  like  to 
let  it  all  rot  in  the  damp  here,  till  you  can't 
read  any  of  its  wreck ;  so  I  am  going  to  try 
to  edit  some,  with  engravings,  as  I  used  to 
do,  if  I  can  find  engravers,  or  else  num- 
bering the  drawings,  and  leaving  them  for 
reference  or  publication  by  my  executors. 
The  geology  and  botany  will,  I  hope,  be- 
come classical  books  in  education.  I  mean 
to  collect  and  separate  with  extreme  care 
what  is  really  known  of  geology  proper  from 
mere  theory,  and  illustrate  it  as  best  I 
can.  .  .  . 

I 've  found  myself  rather  weak  in  body 
this  summer  ;  the  thing  that  chiefly  tires  me, 
however,  is  the  continually  dark  sky,  like  a 
plague  —  all  the  rest  is  chiefly  stomachic. 
If  grief  would  only  let  one's  stomach  alone, 
I  would  manage  the  heart,  well  enough. 
Oh,  dear,  what's  this  brown,  horrid  stain? 
Tea }    I 'm  forbidden  tea  by  the  doctor, 


120     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


and  it 's  high  time  if  I  throw  it  about  like 
this.  All  possible  good  be  with  you. 

Ever  your  affectionate 

J.  R. 

Herne  Hill,  5th  October^  1875. 

...  I  am  more  cheerful  than  I  have  been 
for  several  years.  David's  behaviour  when  the 
child  died  is  I  think  natural  and  possible, 
not  because  grief  is  a  form  of  prayer,  but  be- 
cause pure  grief  is  not  a  disturbing  element 
as  the  returning  waves  of  steadily  ebbing  hope 
are.  My  actual  work,  however,  is  also  more 
pleasing  and  interesting  to  me,  coming  into 
full  ear  out  of  its  blade. 

I  hope  you  will  begin  to  like  "  Fors  "  better, 
as  it  now  associates  itself  with  other  things. 
.  .  .  I  don't  like  what  you  say  of  Froude.  I 
like  the  man,  and  have  learned  much  from 
his  work.  If  it  is  romance,  it  is  unintention- 
ally so,  and  at  present,  to  me,  unique  among 
history-work  since  Tliucydides,  for  being  of 
no  side.  .  .  . 


« 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  121 


Broadlands,  5th  October,  1875. 

My  dearest  Charles, —  You  are  the  first 
person  I  write  to  from  my  new  home.  The 
Temples  have  given  me  a  room  here  for  my 
own,  and  leave  to  stay  in  it  in  the  evenings 
instead  of  coming  down  to  their  late  dinner 
—  and  say  they  will  be  generally  good  to  me 
and  take  care  of  me ;  so  I  came  down  here 
to-day  from  my  old  nursery  at  Heme  Hill, 
and  am  making  myself  comfortable  in  my 
new  nest  —  a  cloudless  sunset  giving  me  its 
good  omen,  over  the  sweet  river  and 
woods.  .  .  . 

Cowley  Rectory,  30th  October ,  1875. 
My  dearest  Charles,  —  I 've  just  sent  — 
late  —  to  press  the  November  "  Fors,"  an- 
nouncing that  I  have  now  on  hand  altogether 
seven  big  books  going  on  at  once  —  and  I 
must  always  have  a  little  book  going  on  be- 
sides, to  close  the  octave,  of  letters  to  you ; 
for  you  will  begin  to  take  pleasure  in  my 
work  again,  now,  if  we  both  live.  .  .  . 


122     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Meantime,  I  have  been  resting  a  little  at 
Broadlands,  and  it  is  a  great  relief  to  me  to 
be  where  I 've  nothing  to  manage,  and  can 
go  out  in  the  garden  without  being  asked 
what  is  to  be  sown,  or  cut,  or  sold,  or 
bought,  or  burnt,  or  manured,  or  drained,  or 
fenced,  or  carted,  or  —  something  or  other 
that  I  don't  know  half  so  much  about  as  the 
blackbirds.  Then  the  servants  are  all  nice, 
the  cook  especially ;  and  she  makes  creams 
and  jellies  for  me,  and  I  go  down  to  the 
kitchen  and  make  experiments  on  glacier 
motion  in  valleys  of  napkin  and  have  got 
the  loveliest  results.  .  .  . 

To-morrow  I  go  to  Oxford  to  give  twelve 
lectures  on  Sir  Joshua's  lectures;  then  I 'm  go- 
ing to  Brighton  for  the  dark  days,  to  see  sun- 
sets over  sea,  and  Aquarium.  Then,  if  all 's 
well,  to  Brantwood  for  the  spring;  and  to 
Fesole  and  Siena  perhaps,  once  more,  for  the 
summer  —  home  by  Venice. 

It  is  very  strange  to  me  to  feel  all  my  life 
become  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  to  be  now 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  123 


merely  like  a  wrecked  sailor,  picking  up  pieces 
of  his  ship  on  the  beach.  This  is  the  real 
state  of  things  with  me,  of  course,  in  a  double 
sense  —  People  gone  —  and  things.  My  Fa- 
ther and  Mother,  and  Rosie,  and  Venice,  and 
Rouen  —  all  gone  ;  but  I  can  gather  bits  up 
of  the  places  for  other  people. 

I 'm  wonderfully  well,  on  the  whole,  and 
doing  masses  of  work  —  only  my  eyes  fail  — 
in  languor  more  than  lens.  I  can  only  see 
well  by  strong  light.  .  .  . 

Love,  very  true,  to  your  mother  and  sisters 
and  children. 

Ever  your  devoted 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Cowley,  14th  November ^  1875. 

.  .  .  You  cannot  have  in  America  the  forms 
of  mental  rest  with  soothed  memory  of  other, 
far  distant,  sorrow,  not  our  own,  which  is 
so  beautiful  in  these  old  countries.  How 
different  for  a  man  like  you,  a  walk  by  our 
riversides  under  Bolton  or  Furness,  or  in 


124     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


cloister  of  Vallambrosa  or  Chartreuse,  from 
any  blank  cessation  from  absolute  toil  in 
that  new  land !  Do  come  to  us  again.  .  .  .  Let 
us  have  a  quiet  time  in  Italy  together,  as  soon 
as  days  are  long,  next  year.  What  will  a  pic- 
ture less  matter  to  me  ?  or  a  cipher  less  in 
my  banker's  book.?  Let  us  take  a  pleasant 
little  suite  of  rooms  in  Florence  or  Venice 
—  and  we'll  economize  together,  and  think 
together  —  and  learn  together  —  and  per- 
haps—  even  Hope  a  little  together  before  we 
die.  ... 

Broadlands,  14th  December^  1875. 

...  I  have  heard  wonderful  things  this 
very  afternoon.  I  have  seen  a  person  who  has 
herself  had  the  Stigmata,  and  lives  as  com- 
pletely in  the  other  world  as  ever  St.  Francis 
did,  from  her  youth  up,  and  —  this  is  for 
you  —  she  had  the  wounds  more  than  once, 
but  on  one  occasion  conveyed  instantly  by  a 
relic  of  St.  Catherine  of  Siena. 

And  I 'm  as  giddy  as  if  I  had  been  thrown 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  125 


off  Strasburg  steeple  and  stopped  in  the 
air;  but  thing  after  thing  of  this  kind  is 
being  brought  to  me.  I  can't  write  more 
to-night.  .  .  . 

^ih  January,  1876. 

Dearest  Charles,  —  In  case  of  missing  a 
steamer,  I  answer  your  kindest  letter  by  re- 
turn post  —  though  only  a  word. 

I  am  most  thankful  for  its  warning ;  and 
truly  I  need  it,  for  the  forms  of  disturbance 
that  present  themselves  to  me,  not  at  Broad- 
lands  only,  are  terrific  in  difficulty  of  dealing 
with,  because,  you  know  the  Middle  Ages 
are  to  me  the  only  ages,  and  what  Angelico 
believed,  did  produce  the  best  work.  That  I 
hold  to  as  demonstrated  fact.  All  modern 
science  and  philosophy  produces  abortion. 
That  miracle-believing  faith  produced  good 
fruit— the  best  yet  in  the  world.  .  .  . 

Ever  your  loving 

J.R. 


126     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 

13th  January,  '76. 

.  .  .  The  pleasure  you  take  in  those  draw- 
ings and  scratches  is  infinitely  delightful  to 
me  —  almost  infinitely  amazing,  except  that 
I  suppose  you  feel  through  their  failure  the 
intense  and  pathetic  love  of  the  places  in 
which  they  are  done. 

It  is  true  that  I  am  burning  the  candle  at 
many  ends,  but  surely  in  the  many  dark 
places  I  live  in,  that  is  the  proper  way  to 
use  one's  life.  .  .  .  There  was  a  time  in  my 
work  when  it  was  tentative  and  stupid  —  to 
a  degree  now  quite  incomprehensible  to  my- 
self. .  .  . 

I  enclose  proof  of  fifth  and  roughly  bound 
fourth  "  Morning."  '  It  is  woful  to  have  to 
leave  that  pleasant  work  —  driven  out  by 
fiendish  modern  republicanism  too  horrible 
to  be  borne  with. 

Here  in  England,  Atheism  and  Spiritual- 
ism mopping  and  mowing  on  each  side  of 
me.  At  Broadlands,  either  the  most  hor- 

*  Mornings  in  Florence,  of  which  there  were  six  in  all. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  127 


rible  lies  were  told  me,  without  conceiv- 
able motive  —  or  the  ghost  of  R.  was  seen 

often  beside  Mrs.   ,  or  me.  —  Which  is 

pleasantest  of  these  things  I  know,  but  can- 
not intellectually  say  which  is  likeliest  —  and 
meantime,  take  to  geology. 

Your  loving 

J.  R. 

20th  January y  1876. 

...  I  am  absolutely  certain  that  were  either 
St.  Louis,  St.  Francis,  or  St.  Hugo  of  Lin- 
coln here  in  the  room  with  me,  they  would 
tell  me,  as  positively  as  John  Simon  would 
tell  me  the  disease  of  a  muscle,  that  my  igno- 
rance of  what  they  knew  was  wholly  owing  to 
my  own  lust,  apathy,  and  conceit ;  and  that  if 
I  chose  to  live  as  they  lived,  I  should  learn 
what  they  knew. 

My  perfectly  firm  conviction  of  this,  and 
yet  the  distinct  duty  which  I  feel  to  cultivate 
the  rare  analytic  and  demonstrative  faculty 
of  me,  rather  than  the  enthusiastic  one  which 


128     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


has  been  common  to  so  many,  will  give  a 
very  singular  tone  to  my  writings,  hence- 
forward—  if  I  am  spared  to  complete  any 
part  of  what  is  in  my  mind.  I  have  sent  to- 
day the  first  chapter  of  the  "  Laws  of  Fesole  " 
to  the  printer  —  and  have  got  the  second 
plate  home.  Here 's  a  little  waste  study  for 
the  fifth  plate,  which  you  may  perhaps  like 
to  have. 

I  have  been  looking  at  your  "Vita  Nuova" 
again  lately.  I  wonder  whether,  when  he  was 
alive,  you  would  have  told  him  that  "  any- 
thing that  disturbed  him  was  bad  for  him  "  } 
One  would  think  you  looked  on  me  as  an 
alderman  after  dinner.  All  the  same,  it 's  very 
true, and  quiet  after  dinner  is  very  good  for  me. 

Broadlands,  I  February,  1876. 

...  I  am  being  brought  every  day  now  into 
new  work  and  new  thoughts,  and,  whether  I 
will  or  no,  into  closer  contact  with  evidence 
of  an  altered  phase  of  natural,  if  not  super- 
natural, phenomena,  the  more  helpful  to  me^ 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  129 


because  I  can  compare  now,  with  clear  know- 
ledge, the  phase  of  mind  in  which  J.  S.  and 
other  noble  Deists  or  infidels  are,  and  in 
which  I  have  been  for  ten  years,  with  that 
which  I  am  now  analyzing  in  the  earlier 
Florentines,  and  recognizing  in  some  living 
Catholics. 

To  me,  personally,  it  is  no  common  sign 
that  just  after  the  shade  of  Rose  was  as- 
serted to  have  been  seen  beside  Mrs.  T.  and 
beside  me,  here,  I  should  recover  the  most 
precious  of  the  letters  she  ever  wrote  me, 
which,  returned  to  her  when  we  parted,  she 
had  nevertheless  kept.  .  .  . 

Corpus  Christi  College,  Oxford. 
{February  22,  1876.] 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  Actually,  there  is 
American  blood  in  you ;  strongly  as  I  have 
denied  it.  To  think  that  after  all  your  work 
at  Siena,  you  can  still  think  that  the  races  of 
men  were  made  to  do  their  best  work  in  heart- 
ily believing  lies. 


130     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


I  wish  you  would  read  the  "  Memorabilia  " 
again,  I  understand  it  so  much  better  than 
of  old.  The  enclosed  letter  may  interest  you. 
I  think  it  will  at  least  show  you  that  all 
Spiritualism,  however  mistaken,  is  not  cold. 
I  can  only  write  this  scrap  to-night,  but  am 

Your  loving 

J.  R. 

Lowell's  "  Dante  "  is  very  good ;  but  the 
entire  school  of  you  moderns  judge  hopelessly 
out,  of  these  older  ones,  because  you  never 
admit  the  possibility  of  their  knowing  what 
we  don't.  The  moment  you  take  that  all- 
knowing  attitude,  the  heavens  are  veiled. 
Lowell  speaks  of  Dante  as  if  Dante  were  a 
forward  schoolboy,  and  Lowell  his  master. 

Corpus  Christi  College,  \s\  March^  1876. 

. .  .  My  final  work  on  Angelico  at  Perugia 
taught  me  much,  last  year,  and  the  real 
difference  between  you  and  me,  now,  is  in 
my  intense  "  Practicality."  .  .  . 

I 'm  just  doing  a  most  careful  preface  to 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  131 


Xenophon  —  mapping  Greek  colonies  and 
religion  all  over  Europe,  and  am  giddy  with 
the  lot  of  things  that  focus,  now,  out  of  past 
work. 

I  heard,  day  before  yesterday,  Crooke's  lec- 
ture on  the  motive  power  of  light.  Black 
things  first  absorb,  and  then  run  away  from 
it.  .  .  .  His  little  pith  wafers  behaved  beau- 
tifully, and  whirled,  being  poised  in  vacuo, 
blackened  on  one  side,  white  on  the  other,  on 
the  approach  of  a  candle,  about  five  revolu- 
tions in  a  second,  for  slowest.  In  sunshine, 
one  had  whirled  itself  to  pieces,  the  black  so 
eager  to  get  away.  No  saying  what  this 
may  n't  lead  to. 

Ever  your  lovingest 

J.R. 

I  have  no  new  faith,  but  am  able  to  get 
some  good  out  of  my  old  one,  not  as  being 
true,  but  as  containing  the  quantity  of  truth 
that  is  wholesome  for  me.  One  must  eat 
one's  faith  like  one's  meat,  for  what  good 's 
in  it.  But  modern  philosophy  for  the  most 


133     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


part  contents  itself  in  the  excremental  func- 
tion, and  rejoices  in  that:  absolutely  incapa- 
ble of  nourishment. 

Herne  Hill,  S.  E.,  20th  April,  1876. 

My  dearest  Charles, —  I'm  leaving  H. 
Hill  (my  old  nursery)  to  post  quietly  down  to 
Brantwood ;  to-day,  D.  V.,  to  St.  Albans  — 
to-morrow  to  Cambridge,  then  Peterborough, 
Grantham  —  Lincoln,  etc.  I  hope  to  get  down 
in  about  twelve  days.  The  rubbishy  scrawl 
with  this  is  the  view  down  the  lake  (about  four 
miles  long)  from  my  own  bit  of  moor  —  oppo- 
site hills  from  three  to  five  hundred  feet  only, 
width  from  a  quarter  to  a  half  mile  —  little 
Monk  island  in  distance.  Looking  north,  I 
have  Helvellyn  and  the  Wordsworth  Fells, 
but  this  view  to  the  south  is  of  most  rare  and 
sweet  beauty. 

All  these  things  are  little  more  than  a 
dream  to  me,  now — the  destruction  of  Venice, 
Florence,  etc.,  being  to  me  simply  fractus 
orbis ;  and  Rosie's  death,  fractum  cesium 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  133 


(which  Horace  might  as  well  have  added, 
when  he  was  about  it)  —  and  I  am  chiefly  at 
present  (slightly  pavidus,  however)  trying  to 
mend  both. 

I  wonder  when  you  will  begin  to  under- 
stand me  a  little  ?  It  is  against  you  that  with 
all  my  practical  and  logical  faculty — colossal 
as  both  are  —  I  can't  get  my  sums  in  addition 
right  in  "  Fors." 

The  thing  that  beats  me  most  of  all  is  the 
Weather ;  but  there 's  a  little  watery  gleam 
of  sun  to-day. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  R. 

Regaining  some  fragments  of  his  old  reli- 
gious faith,  modified  by  new  conceptions  of 
the  faith  of  the  mediaeval  Church,  and  by 
dallyings  with  Spiritualism,  Ruskin  attained 
for  a  time  a  more  cheerful  mood  and  more 
serenity  of  spirit  than  he  had  possessed  dur- 
ing recent  previous  years.  A  pleasant  picture 
of  him  at  Brantwood  was  sent  to  me  in  the 
summer  in  a  letter  by  the  late  Professor  Gur- 


134      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 

ney  of  Harvard  University,  a  man  whose 
untimely  death  can  never  cease  to  be  a  sor- 
row to  those  who  had  the  happiness  of 
being  numbered  among  his  friends.  He 
wrote :  — 

"  The  day  after  we  arrived  at  Coniston  we 
received  an  invitation  to  a  *  high  tea  *  or '  meat 
tea '  from  Mrs.  Severn,  and  the  next  day  she 
called  to  arrange  for  our  being  rowed  over. 
Pleasant  as  she  was,  I  went  over  with  some 
misgivings,  which  proved  to  be  wholly 
groundless,  as  we  have  not  had  a  more  de- 
lightful evening  on  this  side  of  the  water, 
and  Ruskin  was  everything  that  is  consider- 
ate and  courteous  and  kind.  He  first  showed 
us  his  literary  and  art  treasures  while  there 
was  yet  light ;  had  tea  laid  in  the  drawing- 
room  that  we  might  enjoy  the  lake ;  talked 
delightfully,  with  a  slight  twinkle  of  humour- 
ous enjoyment  of  his  own  extravagance,  when 
he  trampled  upon  all  the  existing  arrange- 
ments of  society  and  augured  its  speedy 
downfall;  read  us  bits  of  Cowley  and  Sir 
Philip  Sidney,  and,  best  of  all,  the  preface, 
so  far  as  yet  written,  to  the  edition  he  is  to 
bring  out  of  Sidney's  version  of  the  Psalms, 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  i35 


full  of  humour  and  nice  feeling;  and  instead 
of  coming  away  at  nine  as  we  had  proposed, 
we  tore  ourselves  away  at  half  past  ten  or 
later;  and  instead  of  walking  home  as  we 
had  arranged  to  do,  the  faithful  Downs,  who 
wished  his  duty  conveyed  to  you  all,  insisted 
on  rowing  us  back  as  well  as  over.  It  was 
pleasant  to  hear  him  talk  of  his  master  and 
of  his  own  pride  in  appearing  in  person  in 
the  '  Fors.'  The  row  back  in  the  dusky  light 
was  an  appropriate  close  to  an  evening  so 
delightful  in  all  ways." 

DoLGELLY,  N.  Wales,  2nd  August,  1876. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  want  to  write 
to  you  every  day,  but  must,  at  last,  having 
*had  quite  a  feeling  of  next  door  neighbour- 
hood to  you  this  last  month,  in  sight  of  Mr. 
Moore  first,'  and  then  in  talk  with  Leslie 
Stephen,  and  with  a  very  pleasant  American 
traveller,  Mr.  Field." 

I  was,  of  course,  delighted  with  Mr.  Moore ; 

^  Mr.  Charles  H.  Moore,  then  instructor,  since  professor 
of  the  Fine  Arts  in  Harvard  University. 
*  Mr.  John  W.  Field,  a  most  friendly  and  genial  man. 


136     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


and  had  most  true  pleasure  in  the  time  he 
could  spare  to  me,  increased  by  feeling  that 
I  was  able  to  show  him  things  which  he  felt 
to  be  useful. 

I  left,  on  Monday,  my  pleasant  Brantwood, 
and  Miss  Thackeray,  and  Leslie  Stephen, 
and  my  Joanie,  and  all,  to  begin  movement 
Venice-wards,  to  meet  Mr.  Moore  in  Car- 
paccio's  Chapel.  Alas,  every  place  on  the 
Continent  is  now  full  of  acute  pain  to  me, 
from  too  much  association  with  past  pleasure, 
giving  bitterness  to  the  existing  destruction. 
I  do  not  know  how  I  should  have  felt  in  re- 
turning to  the  places  which  my  Father  and 
Mother  and  I  were  so  happy  in,  had  they 
remained  in  unchanged  beauty  —  but  I  think 
the  feeling  would  have  been  one  of  exalting 
and  thrilling  pensiveness,  as  of  some  glorious 
summer  evening  in  purple  light.  But  to  find 
all  the  places  we  had  loved  changed  into 
railroad  stations  or  dustheaps  —  there  are 
no  words  for  the  withering  and  disgusting 
pain.   However,  when  once  I  get  there  I 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  137 


shall  set  to  work  to  make  a  few  pencil  outline 
drawings  from  general  scenes,  such  as  are 
left,  to  illustrate  the  new  edition  of  "  Stones  of 
Venice."  It  is  no  use  to  re-engrave  old  plates. 
I  will  make  new  drawings,  giving  some 
notion  of  my  old  memories  of  the  place,  in 
Turner's  time,  and  get  them  expressed  in 
line  engraving,  as  best  may  be  —  then  I  shall 
omit  pretty  nearly  all  the  architectural  analy- 
sis of  the  first  volume,  and  expand  and  com- 
plete the  third.  Your  commented  volumes 
will  suggest  all  that  needs  to  be  done,  though 
probably  the  line  I  shall  take  in  doing  it  will 
be  more  divergent  from  that  you  hoped  than 
I  care  to  say,  till  I  find  out  what  it  is  really 
likely  to  be. 

I  walked  up  Cader  Idris  yesterday  with 
good  comfort,  but  find  my  limbs  fail  me  in 
my  attempt  at  such  swift  descent  as  I  used 
to  be  proud  of. 

But  I  would  fain  leave  all  my  printing  and 
talking,  and  set  myself  to  quiet  study  of 
geology  with  such  legs  and  eyes  as  I  have 


138     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


still  left,  —  were  not  the  world  too  miserable 
to  be  let  alone.  ... 

I  shall  be  away  for  Venice  before  you  can 
answer  this.  It  will  be  best  to  address  there, 
but  let  the  "  Stones  of  Venice  "  when  you 
send  them  (if  not  already  sent)  come  to  Ox- 
ford, as  I  shall  not  use  them  till  my  return.  .  .  . 

With  love  to  your  mother  and  sisters. 
Your  faithful  and  loving 

J.R. 

Venice,  5th  October,  1876. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  It  always  seems 
to  me  that  whenever  I  write  a  careful  letter, 
people  don't  get  it.  I 'm  sure  one  or  two  long 
ones  to  you  have  been  lost.  However,  I  have 
yours,  to-day,  and  sit  down  to  tell  you  how 
my  days  pass.  I  wake  as  a  matter  of  course, 
about  half  past  five,  and  get  up  and  go  out  on 
my  balcony  in  my  nightgown  to  see  if  there 's 
going  to  be  a  nice  dawn. 

That 's  the  view  I  have  from  it '  —  with  the 

*  See  facsimile. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  139 


pretty  traceried  balcony  of  the  Contarini 
Fasan  next  door.  Generally  there  is  a  good 
dawn  (nothing  but  sunshine  and  moonlight 
for  the  last  month).  At  six  I  get  up,  and  dress, 
with  occasionally  balcony  interludes  —  but  al- 
ways get  to  my  writing  table  at  seven,  where, 
by  scolding  and  paying,  I  secure  my  punc- 
tual cup  of  coffee,  and  do  a  bit  of  the  Laws  of 
Plato  to  build  the  day  on.  I  find  Jowett's 
translation  is  good  for  nothing  and  shall  do 
one  myself,  as  I  Ve  intended  these  fifteen 
years. 

At  half  past  seven  the  gondola  is  waiting 
and  takes  me  to  the  bridge  before  St.  John 
and  Paul,  where  I  give  an  hour  of  my  very 
best  day's  work  to  painting  the  school  of 
Mark  and  vista  of  Canal  to  Murano.  It 's  a 
great  Canaletto  view,  and  I 'm  painting  it 
against  him. 

I  am  rowed  back  to  breakfast  at  nine,  and, 
till  half  past  ten,  think  over  and  write  what 
little  I  can  of  my  new  fourth  vol.  of  "  Stones 
of  Venice."  At  half  past  ten,  I  go  to  the  Acad- 


140     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


emy,  where  I  find  Moore  at  work ;  and  we  sit 
down  to  our  picture  together.  They  have  been 
very  good  to  me  in  the  Academy,  and  have 
taken  down  St.  Ursula  and  given  her  to  me 
all  to  myself  in  a  locked  room  and  perfect 
light.  I 'm  painting  a  small  carefully  toned 
general  copy  of  it  for  Oxford,  and  shall  make 
a  little  note  of  it  for  you,  and  am  drawing 
various  parts  larger.  Moore  is  making  a 
study  of  the  head,  which  promises  to  be  excel- 
lent. 

He  sits  beside  me  till  twelve,  then  goes  to 
early  dinner  with  Mrs.  Moore  and  Bessie  —  I 
have  a  couple  of  hours  tete-a-tete  with  St. 
Ursula,  very  good  for  me. 

I  strike  work  at  two  or  a  little  after  —  go 
home,  read  letters,  and  dine  at  three.  Lie 
on  sofa  and  read  any  vicious  book  I  can 
find  to  amuse  me  —  to  prevent  St.  Ursula 
having  it  all  her  own  way.  Am  greatly 
amused  with  the  life  of  Casanova  at  present. 

At  half-past  four,  gondola  again  —  I  am 
floated,  half  asleep,  to  Murano  —  or  the  Ar- 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  141 


menians — or  the  San  Giorgio  in  Alga — wake 
up,  and  make  some  little  evening  sketch,  by 
way  of  diary.  Then  take  oar  myself,  and  row 
into  the  dark  or  moonlight. 

Home  at  seven,  well  heated  —  quiet  tea  — 
after  that,  give  audiences,  if  people  want  me ; 
otherwise  read  Venetian  history  —  if  no  im- 
perative letters  —  and  to  bed  at  ten. 

I  am  very  much  delighted  at  having  Mr. 
Moore  for  a  companion  —  we  have  perfect 
sympathy  in  all  art  matters  and  are  not  in 
dissonance  in  any  others.  His  voice  contin- 
ually reminds  me  of  yours. 

And  he 's  not  at  all  so  wicked  nor  so  re- 
publican as  you,  and  minds  all  I  say !  But 
for  all  your  naughtiness,  I 'm  always,  your 
loving 

John  Ruskin. 

Venice,  i6th  January,  '77. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  must  at  once 
thank  you  for  your  Christmas  note,  but  can 
scarcely  do  more,  being  at  very  heavy  work  all 


142      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


day  long.  ...  I  can't  get  my  own  studies  for 
Oxford  completed,  the  Carpaccio  colour  be- 
ing the  most  subtle  and  impossible  I  ever 
attempted,  except  Turner's.  Giotto  and  An- 
gelico  tried  me ;  but  this  is  hardest  of  all. 
I  get  on  with  it,  nevertheless,  though  slowly, 
and  with  much  else  —  chiefly  in  thoughts 
good  for  Christmas  of  which  .  .  . 

7th  February, 

and  so  it  stopped.  ...  I  Ve  nearly  now  done 
three  drawings  from  Carpaccio  '  —  one  of 
the  entire  picture,  one  of  the  window  with 
vervain  leaves,  the  third,  of  the  hand,  —  hand 
and  clothes  over  the  breast,  full  size.  The 
hair  has  cost  me  terrific  work.  I  thought  Car- 
paccio had  done  it  by  felicity,  but  found  it 
was  art  and  cunning  carried  to  such  a  point 
as  to  be  totally  unrecognizable  from  the 
felicitous  lightness  of  Gainsborough.  I  had 
to  do  it  all  over  again,  putting  literally  every 
hair  in  its  place,  approximately. 

I 've  been  four  months  at  work  on  these 

*  From  Carpaccio's  picture  of  St.  Ursula  asleep. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  143 


three  drawings,  with  other  sketches  going  on, 
not  sHght  ones,  and  a  new  history  and  guide 
in  Venice.  The  detail  of  each  day  varies  not 
much;  nor  in  the  detail  of  it  ought  you  to 
take  much  pleasure  —  for  I  have  none  —  ex- 
cept of  a  solemn  kind.  Time  was,  every  hour 
in  Venice  was  joy  to  me.  Now,  I  work  as  I 
should  on  a  portrait  of  my  mother,  dead.  I 
am  pleased  with  myself  when  I  succeed.  In- 
terested in  the  questions  of  the  meaning  of 
such  and  such  a  bend  of  lip,  such  and  such  a 
winding  vein,  pulseless.  You  will  be  inter- 
ested in  the  history  of  her  life,  which  I  can 
thus  write.  So  am  I;  and  "happy"  —  in  that 
way  in  my  work.  But  it  is  a  different  happi- 
ness from  having  my  mother  to  read  Walter 
Scott  to  me. 

There  is  also  now  quite  an  enormous  sepa- 
ration between  you  and  me  in  a  very  serious 
part  of  our  minds.  Every  day  brings  me  more 
proof  of  the  presence  and  power  of  real  Gods, 
with  good  men ;  and  the  religion  of  Venice 
is  virtually  now  my  own  —  mine  at  least 


144      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  * 


(or  rather  at  greatest)  including  hers,  but 
fully  accepting  it,  as  that  also  of  John  Bun- 
yan,  and  of  my  mother,  which  I  was  first 
taught.  .  .  . 

I  hope  my  next  letter  will  be  able  to  report 
more  actual  accomplishment.  .  .  . 

Ever  your  grateful  and  loving 

J.  R. 

I  have  been  very  "  happy  "  —  in  such  sense 
as  I  ever  can  be  —  with  Mr.  Moore,  he  is  so 
nice. 

Brantwood,  31st  July,  1877. 

Dearest  Charles,  — ...  I  have  no  com- 
fort now  for  anything  unless  in  thoughts 
which  you  would  not  care  for  my  telling  you. 
I  am  nearer  breaking  down  myself  than  I 
meant  voluntarily  to  have  run,  —  owing  to  the 
extreme  need  for  doing  all  I  could  at  Venice 
this  winter  —  and  I  have  reduced  myself 
nearly  to  the  state  of  a  brittle  log  —  which 
you  may  break  before  you  can  fetch  fire  out 
of,  or  grief  —  and  what  I  do  or  seem  to  do  is 
more  a  kind  of  lichenous  greenery  than  any- 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  145 


thing  of  my  own  ;  else  I  should  have  written, 
as  you  may  well  believe,  many  a  day  before 
now  .... 

P.  S.  I  read  your  note  —  knowing  how 
much  pleasure  it  would  give  —  to  Joan  and 
Arthur,  who  are  here.  You  will  be  glad  to 
know  that  when  I  read  them  the  first  page  of 
my  answer  I  was  stopped  by  screams  of  laugh- 
ter  —  partly  subdued,  indeed,  complimentary 
—  but  real  enough,  because  I  was  out  walking 
with  them  yesterday  and,  it  seems,  gave  nei- 
ther of  them  the  impression  of  being  a  "  brit- 
tle log." 

Brantwood,  y"]^  February,  1878. 

Dearest  Charles,  —  Good  things  have 
"  chanced  "  to  me  to-day.  Perhaps,  to  many 
besides.  I  have  had  a  wonderful  letter  from 
America,  and  would  fain  tell  you  what  some 
day  or  other  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  of  the 
incredible. 

I  sent  you  some  etchings.  "  Fesole  "  is  go- 
ing on.  — Don't  be  angry  with  me  —  I  cant 


146     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


do  it  faster.  Second  number  all  but  done  — 
and  it  is  nice.  My  love  to  your  mother  —  to 
your  sister. 

Oh,  how  little  I  ever  show  you  of  the  grati- 
tude and  love  I  have  to  yourself ! 

Your  faithful 

John  Ruskin. 
Written  with  Sir  Walter  Scott's  own  pen, 
given  by  him  to  Maria  Edgeworth,  and  lent 
to  me  by  Mr.  Butler,  to  whom  it  came. 

At  last  the  catastrophe,  long  anxiously  fore- 
boded, arrived.  In  February,  1878,  Ruskin's 
overwrought  brain  gave  way.  He  was  desper- 
ately ill.  His  dear  and  wise  friend,  the  emi- 
nent surgeon  and  medical  adviser,  the  late  Sir 
John  (then  Mr.)  Simon,  hastened  from  Lon- 
don to  Brantwood,  and  for  a  fortnight,  while 
Ruskin  hovered  between  life  and  death,  did 
everything  for  him  that  devotion  and  skill 
could  devise.  Mr.  Simon  wrote  to  me  on  the 
4th  of  March:  "...  I  trust  that  the  worst  has 
now  passed.  .  .  .  You  know,  without  my 
telling  it,  all  that  has  brought  this  dreadful 
disaster  on  him,  —  the  utterly  spendthrift 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  147 


way  in  which  (with  imagination  less  and  less 
controlled  by  judgment)  he  has  for  these  last 
years  been  at  work  with  a  dozen  different 
irons  in  the  fire  —  each  enough  to  engage 
one  average  man's  mind.  And  his  emotions 
all  the  while  as  hard- worked  as  his  intellect — 
they  always  blowing  the  bellows  for  its  fur- 
nace. As  I  see  what  he  has  done,  I  wonder 
he  has  not  broken  down  long  ago."  .  .  . 

Before  the  end  of  March  convalescence 
had  begun.  It  went  on  rapidly,  and  by  June 
Ruskin  seemed  to  all  intents  restored  to  entire 
health.  He  soon  fell  into  his  common  modes 
of  life. 

On  the  4th  of  August  Mr.  Simon  wrote 
again  to  me :  "...  It  is  now  more  than 
three  months  since  I  saw  him,  and  I  studiously 
avoid  direct  correspondence  with  him ;  but  I 
think  I  know  his  state  fairly  well,  and  can  tell 
you  as  much  about  him  as  if  we  had  recently 
been  together.  In  bodily  health  he  appears 
to  be  as  well  as  needs  be,  and  in  mind  he 
shows  no  such  fault  as  would  strike  casual 
observers.  He  appears  to  be  fairly  cautious 
against  dangers  of  re-upset :  perhaps  not  so 
abstinent  as  I  should  wish  him  to  be  from 


148     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


use  of  pen  and  ink,  but,  for  him,  self-restrain- 
ing ;  and  he  professes  to  be  on  his  guard 
against  over-colloquism." 

As  a  result  of  his  illness  Ruskin  resigned 
his  professorship  at  Oxford,  but  he  would  not 
give  up  other  work. 

• 

Herne  Hill,  Tuesday. 
[23d  1878.] 

Dearest  Charles,  —  I  have  n't  read  your 
last  letter !  but  I  can  answer  it  at  least,  and 
at  last,  so  far  as  to  tell  you  with  some  secu- 
rity that  I've  got  most  of  my  strayed  wits 
together  again,  for  better  or  worse,  and  have 
for  the  present  locked  the  gate  they  got  out 
at,  and  they  seem  all  pretty  quiet  and  very 
much  ashamed  of  themselves,  so  I  hope  the 
best  for  them. 

The  Doctors  say  it  was  overwork  and  worry, 
which  is  partly  true,  and  partly  not.  Mere 
overwork  or  worry  might  have  soon  ended 
me,  but  it  would  not  have  driven  me  crazy. 
I  went  crazy  about  St.  Ursula  and  the  other 
saints,  —  chiefly  young-lady  saints,  —  and  I 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  149 


rather  suppose  had  offended  the  less  pretty 
Fors  Atropos,  till  she  lost  her  temper.  But 
the  doctors  know  nothing  either  of  Ste. 
Ursula  or  Ste.  Kate,  or  Ste.  Lachesis  — 
and  not  much  else  of  anything  worth  know- 
ing. 

The  chief  real  danger  of  the  delirium,  I 
believe,  was  not  in  the  brain  disease  itself, 
which  was  a  temporary  inflammation,  run- 
ning its  course,  and  passing,  but  in  the  par- 
ticular form  it  took  during  the  first  stages 
of  recovery  —  the  (quite  usual,  I  believe,  in 
such  cases)  refusal  to  eat  anything ;  not  that 
I  did  n't  want  to,  but  I  would  n't  take  it  out 
of  a  cup  with  a  rose  on  it,  or  the  like,  —  and 
so  on,  till  poor  Joan  was  at  her  wit's  end, 
nearly  —  but  her  wits  were  longer  than  mine, 
and  held  on.  How  she  ever  got  through  it, 
I  can't  think,  for  I  took  to  calling  her  hard 
names  at  one  time,  and  did  n't  know  her  at 
another. 

However,  here  she  is,  and  well ;  and  here 
I  am,  not  much  the  worse  in  looks,  people 


ISO     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


say;  and  I  believe,  if  anything,  a  little  bit 
wiser  than  I  was  before,  —  but  very  little. 

Practically,  I  can  go  on  with  my  Botany 
and  Geology,  and  with  a  little  Turner  work, 
but  nothing  else,  and  no  more  of  that  than  I 
can  do  without  the  least  trouble.  Therefore^ 
I  couldn't  read  your  letter,  nor  can  I  take 
up  the  Turner  etching  business  in  the  least. 
I  Ve  far  more  on  my  hands  for  Fesole  than 
I  shall  get  through  this  year  with  all  the  time 
I  have  or  can  have,  and  will  not  add  to  it  by 
a  grain  of  pains  in  any  other  direction.  .  .  . 
This  is  all  I  can  write  to-day. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  R. 

DuNiRA,  Crieff,  N.  B.,  25th  September^  1878. 
My  dearest  Charles,  —  At  last  I  think 
I  may  tell  you  that  you  need  not  be  seriously 
fearful  for  me  any  more,  except  as  for  all 
mortal  creatures,  for  I  have  passed  a  week  of 
total  idleness,  with  some  applause  from  my 
doctors,  and  no  great  discomfort  to  myself. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  151 


and  think  the  practice  of  doing  nothing  in- 
ures me  to  that  hardship  far  more  quickly 
than  could  have  been  expected. 

The  "Liber  Studiorum"  facsimiles  are  per- 
fectly lovely,  and  for  all  practical  purposes 
whatever  as  good  as  the  originals.' 

Love  to  you  all,  ever  and  ever 
Your  grateful 

J.  RUSKIN. 

I  am  doing  fairly  good  work  on  "  Proser- 
pina," I  think,  and  on  "  Fesole,"  which  is  turn- 
ing out  a  different  sort  of  thing  from  the  old 
"  Elements,"  and  I  hope  a  better  sort  of  thing. 
But  it  will  include  whatever  was  really  useful 
in  them. 

Brantwood,  26th  November ^  1878. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  am  profoundly 
thankful  for  your  letter,  most  chiefly  in  its  as- 
surance of  your  continued  health  and  power, 
which  are  really  at  my  heart  more  than  any 
other  things  hoped  for  relating  to  my  per- 

*  I  had  had  thirty  of  the  etchings  of  the  Liber  Studiorum 
reproduced  in  fac-simile  by  the  Heliotype  Printing  Company. 


152     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


sonal  friends,  —  either  for  their  own  sake  or 
for  that  of  any  desires  I  have  that  what  I  have 
endeavoured  to  do  may  be  carried  forward. .  .  . 

To-day  (Monday  —  date  guessed  above),  I 
believe  the  comic  Whistler  lawsuit  is  to  be 
decided.  I  enclose  you  a  copy  of  my  last 
"  instructions  "  to  my  lawyers.  .  .  . 

I  keep  fairly  well,  on  condition  of  doing 
only  about  two  hours'  real  work  each  day. 
But  that,  with  the  thoughts  that  come  in  idle- 
ness, or  as  I  chop  wood,  will  go  a  good  way 
yet,  if  I  live  a  few  years  more. 

I  hope  the  III  "  Fesole  "  will  be  with  you 
nearly  as  soon  as  the  II,  and  two  more  "  Pro- 
serpinas,"  not  bad  ones,  are  just  done,  too. 
Ever  your  lovingest 

J.  RUSKIN. 
Brantwood,  2Sth  February,  1879. 

.  .  .  What  will  come  of  Dante  in  America 
I  believe  a  good  careful  account  of  the  vision 
of  Hell  I  had  myself  would  be  more  to  the 
purpose.   There  was  one  very  tremendous 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  I53 


scene  of  a  blue-and-purple  hot  fire  which  I 
wish  I  could  paint.  It  was  very  beautiful  — 
other  bits  were  very  much  the  contrary;  but 
as  facts  of  delirium,  highly  instructive.  It  was 
just  this  time  last  year.  I 've  got  a  horrible 
cold  in  my  head  —  but  otherwise  never  felt 
much  better.  My  vile  writing  means  much 
laziness — not  shakiness  —  and  partly  cold 
hands.  Lake  frozen  again  this  morning,  a 
mile  square. 

Brantwood,  27th  February,  '79. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  took  out  a 
feather  to  begin  for  you  this  morning ;  but 
shyed  it  —  and  took  to  sorting  out  sketches.' 
I  have  found  some  that  I  am  sure  you  will 
think  useful ;  others  which  I  believe  you  may 
take  some  pleasure  in,  partly  in  friendship, 
partly  in  knowledge  of  the  places.  I  am 
putting  nearly  all  I  have  of  Assisi,  but  the 
best  are  at  Oxford  —  they  will  be  more  use- 
ful in  your  hands  than  any  one  else's,  and 

*  I  was  arranging  for  an  exhibition  of  Ruskin's  drawings. 


154     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


perhaps  of  more  in  America  than  in  Eng- 
land. 

I  begin  to  think  that  it  is  of  no  use  talking 
to  a  country  in  her  decline.  What  was  the 
use,  even  yet,  of  their  teachers  to  them  — 
Jeremiah,  or  Horace,  all  the  same.  But  in  a 
new  country,  one  way  or  another,  a  man  will 
have  power. 

Many  of  these  sketches  I  feel  disgraceful 
to  me — but  I  send  them  for  such  pleasure  as 
they  may  give  you.  Giotto's  "  Poverty,"  for 
instance.  The  one  you  ask  especially  for  I 
am  a  little  afraid  to  risk,  for  it  is  in  a  part  of 
the  fresco  that  nobody  but  I  could  have  made 
out.  I  will  try  to  copy  it :  the  St.  Mark's  copy 
appals  me  a  little  as  I  think  over  it  to-day  — 
but  I 've  had  bad  cold  and  stomach  illness, 
and  am  much  down.  I 'm  signing  and  dat- 
ing all  the  sketches  —  on  back,  if  not  front. 
Shall  I  risk  all  by  one  ship  ?  I  will  wait  your 
answer  before  sending  the  best ;  a  certain  set 
I  will  get  ready  and  despatch  at  once. 

Ever  your  loving  J.  R. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  155 


I  have  been  speaking  as  if  they  were  all  to 
stay.  I 'm  not  sure  that  they  may  not. 

Friday  —  28th  —  evening. 

I  am  better,  though  I  was  uncomfortably 
ill  last  night,  and  being  summoned  to  Lon- 
don to  give  evidence  on  a  charge  of  forgery, 
variously  painful  to  me,  was  considering 
whether  I  would  go  or  not  —  I  greatly  trust 
in  the  Sortes  Horatianae,  as  well  as  Virgilian, 
at  least,  for  me,  —  and  opening  my  Horace 
,in  the  morning  at  "  Mors  et  fugacem,"'  deter- 
mined at  once  to  go :  and  have  been  much 
more  comfortable  in  mind  and  body  ever 
since.  .  .  . 

Brantwood,  Easter  Monday,  1879. 

My  darling  Charles,  —  I  have  to-day 
your  delightful  note  of  the  31st.  ..  . 

I  think  that  book  on  the  European  power 
of  Italy  would  be  a  very  glorious  thing  to  do. 
It  is  certainly  unknown.  People  fancy  they 
civilized  themselves !  and  that  they  could  have 

*  Mors  et  fugacem  prosequitur  hominem.  Carm,  iii.  ii.  14. 


156     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


had  Shakespeare  without  Verona,  and  Black- 
friars  Bridge  without  St.  Francis.  (I 've  just 
been  finding  a  place  for  my  "  Fioretti  "  in  my 
fixed  library  here;  Oxford  finally  disman- 
tied.)  But  please  set  to  work  on  that  book  at 
once.  I  Ve  put  off  everything  I  meant  most 
to  do,  till  I  feel  as  if  I  had  n't  ten  days  to  live. 

We  had  snow  and  hail  three  days  last 
week,  and  as  I  look  up  from  my  paper  the 
sun  touches  silver  streaks  on  the  mountains. 
But  we 've  had  snowdrops  for  six  weeks  back 
—  they  're  all  over  now,  and  the  daffodils  all 
a  dazzle. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  R. 

We  launched  my  own  first  boat  on  Satur- 
day —  larch-built  as  thoroughly  as  boat  can 
be  —  with  a  narrow  stern  seat,  for  one  only, 
and  a  Lago  di  Garda  bow.  I  had  a  nice  pretty 
niece  of  Joannie's  to  christen  her  for  me  — 
"  the  Jumping  Jenny."  ("  Ste.  Genevieve  " 
on  the  sly,  you  know)  —  and  the  following 
benediction  was  spoken  over  her :  — 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  157 


Waves  give  place  to  thee, 
Heaven  send  grace  to  thee, 
And  Fortune  to  ferry 
Kind  folk,  and  merry. 

She 's  my  first  essay  in  marine  architecture, 
and  the  boat-builders  far  and  near  approve! 

Brantwood,  4th  June^  1879. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  The  sad  closing 
sentences  of  your  letter  efface  from  my  mind 
most  of  the  rest  of  it.  For  indeed  it  is  only 
by  my  own  follies  and  sins  that  I  have  fallen 
so  far  short  of  the  knowledge  of  good  as  to 
be  now  unable  to  cheer  you  —  by  blaming 
you  —  and  saying.  Why  should  blindness  be 
darkness  —  and  why  the  coming  of  Death  a 
Sorrow  ?  It  is  only  in  utter  shame  and  self- 
reproach  that  I  ever  allow  myself  (or  cannot 
help  myself)  in  despondency;  and  the  very 
wildness  of  howling  devilry  and  idiocy  in 
the  English  mob  around  me  strengthens  me 
more  than  it  disgusts  —  in  the  definiteness  of 
its  demoniac  character.    To  see  the  devil 


158     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


clearly  is  in  the  19th  century  all  that  less 
than  saints  can  hope  for  —  but  I  am  content 
with  so  much  of  Apocalypse  as  all  that  I  de- 
serve; and  with  the  absolute  sense  that  he 
and  I  are  not  of  the  same  mind. 

It  is  very  foolish  of  me  never  to  be  able  to 
get  over  the  notion  of  the  Atlantic  between 
us,  so  as  to  write  notes  as  I  should  if  you 
were  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake.  I 've  much 
to  tell  you  that  would  please  you  —  but  ex- 
cept that  the  St.  Mark's '  is  well  on,  and  a 
pheasant's  feather  and  spray  of  cotoneaster 
done  (I  send  them  to  Oxford  to  be  looked  at, 
to-day,  to  spite  them  that  they're  to  have  no 
more  of  the  sort  but  that  you  are  wiser  over 
the  water)  —  I  won't  tell  you  anything  to- 
day, that  I  may  be  forced  into  writing  again 
to-morrow  —  except  that  the  anti-hypaethral 
pamphlet  *  is  a  really  grand  piece  of  work, 
exemplary  in  matter  and  manner,  and  a  noble 

*  A  water-color  drawing  of  admirable  quality. 

^  The  Hypcethral  Question:  An  Attempt  to  determine 
the  Mode  in  which  .  .  .  a  Greek  Temple  was  lighted.  By 
Joseph  Thacher  Clarke.    Harvard  Art  Club  Papers,  No.  i. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  159 


*' number  one"  of  such  essays.  Its  glacial  tone 
of  infidelity  may  be  forgiven  to  a  youth  who 
has  studied  Doric  only. 

Ever  your  loving  J.  R. 

Br  ANT  WOOD,  9th  July,  1879. 

...  I  get  very  little  done  now  of  anything 
—  but  am  on  that  condition,  very  well ;  and 
I  hope  that  what  I  do  get  done  is  not  apo- 
plectic. I'm  doing  the  Laws  of  Plato  thor- 
oughly. Jowett's  translation  is  a  disgrace  to 
Oxford,  and  how  much  to  Plato,  —  if  he  could 
be  disgraced  more  than  by  everybody's  neg- 
lect of  him,  —  cannot  be  said,  and  I  must  get 
mine  done  all  the  more.  I 'm  at  work  on 
Scott  again,  too,  and  some  abstract  questions 
about  poetry  and  drama,  of  which  I  know 
more  than  I  did  of  old. 

Herne  Hill,  ist  November y  1879. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  have  not  an- 
swered your  last  letter  —  and  to-day  I  take 
up  one  of  Dec.  20,  1875,  when  your  children 


i6o     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


and  Moore's  little  girl,  and  Henrietta  Child 
were  playing  (preparing  their  play  of)  King 
Adland  and  King  Estmere,  and  think  of  my- 
self as  beginning  to  play  in  the  last  act  of 
my  world  play,  and  of  you,  with  your  not 
so  far  carried-on  part,  but  both  of  us,  now, 
without  any  one  to  hear  the  plaudit  (if  plaudit 
be).  Was  your  mother  —  to  you  —  in  this, 
as  mine  to  me,  the  inciter  and  motive-in- 
chief  of  what  one  did  for  praise  ?  Not  that 
she  did  not  uphold  me  in  all  that  was  right 

—  praised  or  not  —  but  still  —  I  would  have 
done  much  to  please  her  with  the  hearing  of 
it  only.  As  for  instance  — 

Well,  it 's  no  matter.  .  .  . 

I  was  n't  quite  pleased  with  your  account 
of  their  reading  "  Maud  "  and  so  on.  Much  too 
close  hothouse  air  they  seemed  to  me  to  be 
in  —  and  I  fancy  that  my  own  early  limita- 
tions to  Shakespeare  and  Homer  were  more 
healthy  —  but  I  don't  know  —  perhaps  they 
only  made  me  take  more  violently  to  Shelley 

—  who  did  me  no  end  of  harm  afterwards. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  i6i 


I  wonder  if  it  will  give  you  any  pleasure 
to  hear  that  my  museum  is  fairly  now  set 
afoot  at  Sheffield,  and  that  I  am  thinking  of 
living  as  much  there  as  possible.  The  people 
are  deeply  interesting  to  me,  and  I  am 
needed  for  them  and  am  never  really  quiet 
in  conscience,  elsewhere. 

Write  —  if  at  all  just  now  —  to  Herne 
Hill. 

Ever  your  lovingest 

J.R. 

Brantwood,  Sunday,  i6tli  May^  1880. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  We 've  had  two 
months  of  fine  weather,  and  I 've  been  paint- 
ting  and  digging.  I  could  have  sent  you  a 
scrap  like  this  before,  but  was  ashamed  — 
and  now  I  Ve  been  getting  into  a  lot  of  new 
work  on  Scott,  and  never  get  a  line  of  letters 
written  at  all  —  only  I  won't  give  any  of  my 
drawings  to  America.  They  would  not  be  of 
any  real  use  —  I  know  that  more  and  more, 
by  their  uselessness  here — and  they  're  worth 


i62     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


money  to  me  besides  —  and  I 'm  not  going 
to  fleece  myself  any  more.  I've  done  enough. 
But  I 'm  not  less  your 

Ever  loving  and  grateful 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Br  ANT  WOOD,  20th  January^  '8i. 

Dearest  Charles,  —  Very  thankful  I  was 
for  your  letter  of  New  Year,  received  this 
morning.  Many  a  thought  I 've  had  of  you, 
but  at  Christmas  time  I  was  not  myself  — 
the  over-excitement  of  an  autumn  spent  in 
France  leaving  me  much  pulled  down.  I  am 
better  now  (though  my  hand  shakes  with 
cold  to-day),  and  can  report  fairly  of  what  is 
done  and  doing. 

I  found  Chartres,  both  castle  and  town, 
far  more  spared  than  I  had  thought  possi- 
ble, and  more  of  historical  interest  than  I 
had  ever  dreamed  in  Amiens ;  and  the  book' 
sent  with  this  is  the  first  of  what  I  believe 
will  bring  out  more  of  the  at  present  useless 

*  The  Bible  of  Amiens. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  163 


feelings  in  me  than  any  work  lately  under- 
taken. 

When  I  first  looked  at  your  book '  I  felt 
a  chill  from  the  tone  of  it  (in  the  points 
you  know  of)  far  more  than  I  ever  feel,  or 
could  feel,  in  talking  with  you;  but  it  will 
furnish  me  with  just  what  I  want  of  the 
most  definite  and  trustworthy  facts  —  and 
these  curried  with  a  little  spice  of  old 
Jerome  and  Knox  —  as  you  know  they  are 
mixed  in  me  —  will  give,  I  believe,  more  of 
the  zest  of  that  old  life  than  has  yet  been 
got  in  history. 

I  have  still  eye  and  hand  enough  to  draw, 
or  even  etch  what  I  want,  if  I  can  only  get 
time;  and  I  have  just  laid  my  hand  on  a 
young  assistant  who  can  get  more  of  this 
spirit  of  sculpture  than  I  can  myself.  The 
people  over  there  get  interested  themselves 
when  I  stay  a  while  with  them,  and  I  hope 
to  be  allowed  to  cast  things  for  the  Sheffield 
Museum  and  leave,  if  I  live  yet  a  few  years 

*  Church- Building  in  the  Middle  Ages, 


i64     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


more,  more  than  enough  to  show  what  Gothic 
was.  .  .  . 

The  Venetian  head  you  gave  me  is  in  my 
new  dining  room  here,  and  you  should  see  the 
view  through  the  window  beside  it,  not  to  speak 
of  much  else  which  I  can't  picture  to  you,  of 
moorland  and  wood,  which  you  would  like  to 
walk  in,  as  we  used  to  do  at  the  Giesbach. 

This  dull  letter  will  I  hope  bring  a  brighter 
one  after  it,  but  I  answer  by  return  of  post, 
though  to-day  with  cold  wits  —  not  heart. 
Ever  your  loving      *      J.  Ruskin. 

The  illness  of  1878,  although  it  seemed  to 
pass  without  leaving  serious  effects,  marked 
virtually  the  close  of  work  accomplished  by 
Ruskin  with  his  full  powers.  His  mind,  as 
his  letters  show,  continued  as  active  as  ever. 
The  diversity  of  his  interests  did  not  dimin- 
ish, and  each  in  turn  was  pursued  with  ex- 
hausting enthusiasm.  He  gave  himself  no 
rest,  and,  rejecting  the  counsel  of  Prudence 
(for  him  the  most  difficult  of  the  virtues),  he 
pursued  a  course  which  could  not  but  end  in 
renewed  disaster.  In  1881,  after  several  pre- 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  165 


vious  threatenings,  a  fresh  attack  of  trouble 
in  the  brain  broke  him  down  for  a  time,  and 
this  was  followed  the  next  year  by  a  similar, 
but  still  more  serious  and  alarming  attack. 
In  each  instance  the  illness  passed,  having 
apparently  done  little  harm.  From  each  of 
them  Ruskin  recovered  without  consciousness 
of  injury,  and  without  loss  of  confidence  in 
his  own  powers,  so  that  in  1883  he  accepted 
reelection  to  his  Oxford  professorship,  and 
began  to  lecture  again  not  only  at  the  Uni- 
versity, but  in  London  and  elsewhere. 

I  made  a  short  visit  to  England  in  the 
summer  of  1883,  and  again  in  that  of  1884, 
and  in  both  years  spent  some  days  at  Brant- 
wood.  Ruskin,  as  I  have  already  said,  had 
changed  greatly  in  the  ten  years  since  our 
last  meeting.  I  had  left  him  in  1873  a  man 
in  vigorous  middle  life,  young  for  his  years, 
erect  in  figure,  alert  in  action,  full  of  vitality, 
with  smooth  face  and  untired  eyes ;  I  found 
him  an  old  man,  with  look  even  older  than 
his  years,  with  bent  form,  with  the  beard  of  a 
patriarch,  with  habitual  expression  of  weari- 
ness, with  the  general  air  and  gait  of  age. 
But  there  were  all  the  old  affection  and  ten- 


i66     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


derness ;  the  worn  look  readily  gave  way  to 
the  old  animation,  the  delightful  smile  quickly 
kindled  into  full  warmth;  occasionally  the 
unconquerable  youthfulness  of  temperament 
reasserted  itself  with  entire  control  of  manner 
and  expression,  and  there  were  hours  when 
the  old  gayety  of  mood  took  possession  of  him 
with  its  irresistible  charm.  He  had  become, 
indeed,  more  positive,  more  absolute  in  man- 
ner, more  irritable,  but  the  essential  sweet- 
ness prevailed.  Given  his  circumstances,  no 
ordering  of  life  could  have  been  more  happy 
for  him  than  that  at  Brant  wood.  He  was 
the  object  of  the  most  loving  and  watchful 
sympathy  and  care.  His  cousin,  Mrs.  Severn, 
was  at  the  head  of  his  household,  and  the 
best  of  daughters  could  not  have  been  more 
dear  and  devoted  to  him.  Her  children  kept 
the  atmosphere  of  the  home  fresh  and  bright; 
the  home  itself  was  delightful,  beautiful  within 
with  innumerable  treasures  of  art,  and  sur- 
rounded without  by  all  the  beauties  of  one 
of  the  fairest  scenes  of  the  English  lake  coun- 
try. A  pleasanter  home,  or  one  more  lovely 
in  its  surroundings  and  more  appropriate  for 
him,  could  not  have  been  desired. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  167 


Brantwood,  24th  March^  1881. 

My  dearest  Charles, — I  've  just  read  your 
dear  letter  to  me  on  my  birthday,  after  hav- 
ing another  bite  or  two  of  Nebuchadnezzar's 
bitter  grass.  I  went  wild  again  for  three  weeks 
or  so,  and  have  only  just  come  to  myself  — 
if  this  be  myself,  and  not  the  one  that  lives 
in  dream. 

The  two  fits, of  whatever  you  like  to  call 
them  are  both  part  of  the  same  course  of  trial 
and  teaching,  and  I 've  been  more  gently 
whipped  this  time  and  have  learned  more; 
but  I  must  be  very  cautious  in  using  my 
brains  yet  awhile. 

I  can't  make  out  why  you  like  that  "  Bible 
of  Amiens."  I  thought  you  had  given  up  all 
that  sort  of  thing. 

I  shall  have  some  strange  passages  of 
dream  to  tell  you  of  as  soon  as  I  am  strong 
again.  The  result  of  them,  however,  is  mainly 
my  throwing  myself  now  into  the  mere  fulfil- 
ment of  Carlyle's  work. 

Say  words  of  him  —  say  you.  Are  not  his 


i68     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


own  words  written  in  white-hot  fire  on  every 

city-wall  of  Europe  ? 

Read  "  Past  and  Present "  again,  now. 
This  was  the  main  part  of  the  cause  of  my 

dream.  The  other  was  what  I  talked  of  once 

to  you  at  Prato  (beside  Filippo  Lippi). 
I  '11  write  soon  again  —  God  willing. 
Ever  your  lovingest 

.     J.  RUSKIN. 

Brant  WOOD,  26th  Aprils  1881. 

^  My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  have  your  little 
note  of  the  13th,  in  a  cluster  of  other  vari- 
ously pleasant  in  a  minor  way.  .  .  . 

And  with  the  more  enjoyment  that  I  don't 
feel  any  need  for  doing  or  "  nothing  doing  " 
as  I 'm  bid  !  but,  on  the  contrary,  am  quite 
afloat  again  in  my  usual  stream,  and  sent  off 
(retouched)  two  dozen  pages  of  lecture  on 
Dabchick  to  printer,  only  yesterday,  besides 
painting  a  crocket  of  Abbeville  in  the  after- 
noon a  great  deal  better  than  I  could  when 
we  were  there  in  '68.  (Goodness !  1 3  years 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  169 


ago  — it  ought  to  be  better  anyhow.)  And, 
^  the  fact  is,  these  illnesses  of  mine  have  not 
been  from  overwork  at  all,  but  from  over- 
excitement  in  particular  directions  of  work, 
just  when  the  blood  begins  to  flow  with  the 
spring  sap.  The  first  time,  it  was  a  piece  of 
long  thought  about  St.  Ursula;  and  this  year 
it  was  brought  on  by  my  beginning  family 
prayers  again  for  the  servants  on  New  Year's 
Day  — and  writing  two  little  collects  every 
morning  — one  on  a  bit  of  gospel,  the  other 
on  a  bit  of  psalm.  They  are  at  least  as  ra- 
tional as  prayers  usually  are,  but  gradually  I 
got  my  selfishness  —  the  element  you  warned 
me  of  in  "  Fors,"  too  much  engaged  —  and,  af- 
ter a  long  meditation  on  the  work  of  the  "  other 
seventy "  (Luke  x,  beginning)  and  the  later 
Acts  of  Apostles,  got  in  my  own  evening 
thoughts  into  a  steady  try  if  I  could  n't  get 
Rosie's  ghost  at  least  alive  by  me,  if  not  the 
body  of  her.  ... 

Ever  your  lovingest 

J.  R. 


I/O     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Brantwood,  1 8th  July^  '8i. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  Moore  writes  to 
me  from  North  Conway,  N.  H.  ("  New  Hell," 
I  suppose)  but  I  don't  know  if  he  lives  there 
or  whether  he  expects  any  answer  to  his  let- 
ter —  anyhow  here 's  one  enclosed,  if  you  '11 
please  read  it  and  send  it  him.  There 's  some 
general  talk  on  America  which  you  ought  to 
see,  too. 

...  It  really  makes  me  a  little  more  indul- 
gent to  the  beastliness  of  modern  Europe,  to 
think  what  we  might  possibly  have  got  to  see 
and  feel  by  this  time,  but  for  the  various 
malaria  from  America. 

I 'm  working  rather  hard  on  the  history  of 
Amiens,  and  hope  to  get  some  bits  of  histori- 
cal sculpture  cut  out  of  it  which  will  come 
into  good  light  and  shade  —  chiefly  light; 
and  I 've  just  finished  two  numbers  of  "  Love's 
Meinie,"  which  will  come  to  you  the  moment 
I 've  a  clean  proof.  I 've  sent  in  the  last  revise. 

Sheffield  also  in  good  progress. 

Ever  your  affectionate       J.  R. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  171 


Brant  WOOD,  29th  August,  '81. 

You  will  soon  have  some  books,  I  hope, 
showing  what  I  am  about.  .  .  .  Early  post 
to-day,  and  I've  the  house  full  of  people. 
Joan 's  well  and  in  good  feather,  and  I 'm  just 
what  I  always  was,  except  a  little  Grosser 
when  I 'm  bothered  and  a  little  merrier  when 
I 'm  not. 

Nearly  a  year  passed  after  this  letter  was 
written  before  Ruskin  wrote  to  me  again. 
The  two  following  letters  afford  the  sad 
explanation  of  his  silence. 

FROM  LAURENCE  I.  HILLIARD. 

Brantwooi?,  15  October,  1881. 

Dear  Mr.  Norton,  — ...  I  am  sorry  I  can- 
not give  you  a  very  satisfactory  account  of 
Mr.  Ruskin's  health.  He  is  almost  as  active 
as  ever,  and  is  just  now  deeply  interested  in 
some  experimental  drainage  of  a  part  of  his 
little  moor,  which  he  hopes  to  be  able  to  cul- 
tivate ;  but  he  seems  more  and  more  to  find 


172     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


a  difficulty  in  keeping  to  any  one  settled 
train  of  thought  or  work,  and  it  is  sad  to  see 
him  entering  almost  daily  upon  newschemes 
which  one  cannot  feel  will  ever  be  carried 
out. 

So  far  as  he  will  allow  us,  we  try  to  help  him, 
but  the  influence  of  any  one  of  those  around 
him  is  now  very  small,  and  has  been  so  ever 
since  the  last  illness.  I  hope  that  this  mis- 
trust of  his  friends  may  some  day  wear  off, 
and  that  if  you  are  ever  able  to  come  and  see 
him,  you  will  find  him  in  a  happier  frame  of 
mind.  .  .  . 

Yours  most  sincerely, 

Laurence  I.  Milliard. 

Mr.  Hilliard  was  a  young  man  of  great 
charm  and  large  promise,  who  acted  for  a 
while  as  Ruskin's  secretary.  His  early  death 
was  a  grave  loss  to  Ruskin,  for  the  services 
which  he  rendered  were  inspired  by  old  fam- 
ily affection,  and  their  value  was  enhanced 
by  the  sweet  and  strong  qualities  of  his  na- 
ture. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  173 


FROM  G.  COLLINGWOOD. 

Brantwood,  March  7,  1882. 

Dear  Sir,  —  Please  forgive  my  opening 
your  letter,  and  be  patient  for  an  answer,  be- 
cause Mr.  Ruskin  is  away  from  home,  and 
unwell,  as  he  has  been  for  months ;  but  now 
worse,  so  far  as  I  can  gather.  It  has  been  so 
difficult  to  approach  him  on  any  subject  but 
the  most  commonplace,  that  though  we  have 
often  tried  to  get  him  to  send  kind  words 
to  Cambridge,  he  always  turned  the  subject. 
His  illnesses  have  mixed  most  of  his  oldest 
and  best  friends  with  delirious  dreams  and  un- 
kind hallucinations.  That  is  why,  and  that 's 
the  only  reason  why  you  don't  hear  from  him. 
When  I  came  to  live  here  last  summer  I 
found  him  dreadfully  altered ;  and  am  sure  if 
you  could  see  him  for  a  day,  you  would  find 
that  it  is  not  ill-feeling,  but  ill-health  of  mind 
and  body,  which  makes  him  shy  of  reminis- 
cences, and  very  irritably  disposed  even  to 
those  whom  he  endures  about  him. 


174     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


As  soon  as  ever  he  is  a  little  better,  and  I 
can  summon  up  the  courage,  he  shall  have 
your  note.  .  .  .  I 'm  under  orders  to  save  him 
all  correspondence,  and  this  is  my  excuse  for 
what  you  might  think  impertinence.  .  .  . 
Yours  very  respectfully, 

G.  COLLINGWOOD/ 

AVALLON,  30th  August,  '82. 

My  darling  Charles,  —  I  have  just  come 
in  from  morning  work,  drawing  scrolls  and 
frets — Greek  fret  with  the  rest — on  the  most 
wonderful  12th  century  porch  I  ever  saw,  Pisa 
not  excepted.  Pisa  (baptistery  door)  is  lovelier, 
but  this  is  the  fierier ;  Greek  workmen  from 
the  south  must  have  done  it  —  or  the  devil 
himself,  for  such  straight  away  splendidness 
in  every  touch  I  Ve  never,  as  I  say,  seen  yet. 

Well,  I  got  your  little  note  with  that 
blessed  news  of  the  Carlyle  and  Emerson 
letters  the  first  thing  this  morning,  before 

^  Mr.  Collingwood,  Ruskin's  faithful  friend  and  assistant 
for  many  years,  and  his  sympathetic  official  biographer. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  175 


going  out.  It  had  been  lying  for  some  days 
at  Dijon,  but  I  don't  lose  time  in  answering. 
I  had  in  mind  to  write  to  you  for  a  month  or 
two  back,  ever  since  shaking  off  my  last  ill- 
ness, but  one  feels  shy  of  writing  after  being 
so  extravagantly  and  absurdly  ill.  I  got  faster 
better  this  time,  because  Sir  William  Gull  got 
me  a  pretty  nurse,  whom  at  first  I  took  for 
Death  (which  shows  how  stupid  it  is  for 
nurses  to  wear  black),  and  then  for  my  own 
general  Fate  and  Spirit  of  Destiny,  and  then 
for  a  real  nurse,  .  .  .  and  slowly  —  and  rather 
with  vexation  and  desolation  than  any  pleas- 
ure of  convalescence — I  came  gradually  to 
perceive  things  in  their  realities  ;  but  it  took 
me  a  good  fortnight  from  the  first  passing 
away  of  the  definite  delirium  to  reason  my- 
self back  into  the  world. 

I  have  not  been  so  glad  of  anything  for 
many  a  day  as  about  those  Emerson  letters ; 
nevertheless,  one  of  my  reasons  (or  causes) 
of  silence  this  long  time  has  been  my  differ- 
ing with  you  (we  do  differ  sometimes)  in  a 


176     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


chasmy  manner  about  Froude's  beginning 
of  his  work. "... 

I 'm  fairly  well  again,  but  more  sad  than  I 
need  say  about  myself  and  things  in  gen- 
eral. But  I  can  still  draw,  and  to-morrow  I 'm 
going  to  Dijon,  and  on  Thursday  I  drive  to 
Citeaux,  and  on  Friday  I  hope  to  get  to  the 
Jura,  and  drive  over  them  once  more,  getting 
to  Geneva  and  Bonneville  early  in  next  week ; 
then  by  Annecy  over  little  St.  Bernard  and 
so  on  to  Genoa  and  Pisa.  You  might  be 
there  nearly  as  soon  as  I  shall  be,  if  you 
liked  to !  Ever  your  loving 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Sallenche,  nth  September^  1882. 

My  darling  Charles,  —  I  think  a  good 
deal  of  you  here,  and  of  other  people  that  are 
not  here,  without  deserving  to  be  scolded  for 
being  anywhere  else. 

I  was  trying  to-day  to  draw  the  view  I 
showed  you  that  morning  with  the  piny  ridge 

*  His  Life  of  Carlyle. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  177 


between  us  and  the  Mont  Blanc.  But  I 
couldn't  draw  the  ridge,  and  there  was  no  Mont 
Blanc,  any  more  than  there  was  any  you ;  for 
indeed  the  Mont  Blanc  we  knew  is  no  more. 
All  the  snows  are  wasted,  the  lower  rocks 
bare,  the  luxuriance  of  light,  the  plentitude  of 
power,  the  Eternity  of  Being,  are  all  gone 
from  it  —  even  the  purity  —  for  the  wasted 
and  thawing  snow  is  grey  in  comparison  to 
the  fresh-frosted  wreaths  of  new-fallen  cloud 
which  we  saw  in  that  morning  light  —  how 
many  mornings  ago }  The  sadness  of  it  and 
wonder  are  quite  unparalleled,  as  its  glory  was. 
But  no  one  is  sad  for  it,  but  only  I,  and  you, 
I  suppose,  would  be.  L.  would  be  perfectly 
happy,  doubtless,  because  Mont  Blanc  is  now 
Sans-culotte  literally,  and  a  naturalized.  Re- 
publican, French  Mount  besides,  —  without 
any  Louis  Napoleon  to  make  the  dying  snows 
blush  for  their  master. 

And  as  the  Glaciers,  so  the  sun  that  we 
knew  is  gone !  The  days  of  this  year  have 
passed  in  one  drift  of  soot-cloud,  mixed  with 


1/8      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


blighting  air.  I  was  a  week  at  Avallon  in 
August,  without  being  able  to  draw  one  spiral 
of  its  porch-mouldings,  and  could  not  stand 
for  five  minutes  under  the  walls  of  Vezelay, 
so  bleak  the  wind.  The  flowers  are  not  all 
dead  yet,  however  —  the  euphrasy  and  thyme 
are  even  luxuriant,  and  the  autumn  crocus  as 
beautiful  as  of  old.  I  can't  get  up,  now,  alas, 
to  my  favorite  field  of  gentian  under  the  Ai- 
guille de  Varens,but  I  find  the  fringed  autumn 
gentian  still  within  reach  on  the  pastures  of 
the  Dole.  The  Rhone  still  runs,  too,  though 
I  think  they  will  soon  brick  it  over  at  Geneva, 
and  have  an  "  esplanade  "  instead.  They  will 
then  have  a  true  Cloaca  Maxima,  worthy  of 
modern  progress  in  the  Fimetic  Arts. 

I  go  back  to  Geneva  on  Wednesday,  and 
then  to  Pisa  and  Lucca  —  a  Hne  to  Lucca 
would  find  me  in  any  early  day  of  October, 
and  should  be  read  beside  Ilaria,  and  perhaps 
with  her  gift  of  Cheerfulness. 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  R. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  179 


Don't  think  this  is  a  brain-sick  statement 
—  I  certify  you  of  the  facts  as  scientifically 
true. 

Lucca,  Coffee  time  (7  a.  m.) 
3  October,  1882. 

.  .  .  Well,  about  these  Pisa  measurings. 
You  might  as  well  try  to  measure  the  sea- 
waves,  and  find  out  their  principle.  The  be- 
ginning of  the  business  would  be  to  get  at 
any  historical  clue  to  the  facts  of  yielding 
foundation.  The  Parthenon  is  quite  a  differ- 
ent case  from  any  mediaeval  building  what- 
soever. In  all  great  mediaeval  buildings  you 
have  foundation  unequal  to  the  weight,  you 
have  more  or  less  bad  materials,  and  you  have 
a  lot  of  stolen  ones.  You  might  as  well  go 
and  ask  a  Timbuctoo  nigger  why  he  wears 
a  colonel's  breeches  wrong  side  upwards,  as 
a  Pisan  architect  why  he  built  his  walls  with 
the  bottom  at  the  top  and  the  sides  squinting. 
He  likes  to  show  his  thefts  to  begin  with  — 
if  the  ground  gives  way  under  him,  he  stands 


i8o     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


on  the  other  leg.  I  Ve  long  believed  myself 
that  finding  the  duomo  would  n*t  stand  up- 
right anyhow,  they  deliberately  made  a  ship 
of  it,  with  the  leaning  tower  for  a  sail ;  and 
my  good  helper,  Mr.  Collingwood,  who  has 
been  doing  the  loveliest  sections  of  the  Savoy 
Alps,  who  are  exactly  like  Pisan  architects  in 
their  "principles,"  or  unprinciples,  too — said 
that  he  could  n't  look  at  the  north  side  with- 
out being  seasick. 

But  all  this  entanglement  is  of  no  impor- 
tance as  to  the  main  question  of  "  Liberty  " 
of  line,  which  even  I  have  always  taught  to 
be  the  life  of  the  workman,  and  which  exists 
everywhere  in  good  work  to  an  extent  till 
now  unconceived,  even  by  me  —  till  I  had 
seen  the  horror  of  the  restoration  which  put 
it  "  to  rights."  Nearly  all  our  early  English 
Gothic  is  free  hand  in  the  curves,  and  there 
is  no  possibility  of  drawing  even  the  apparent 
circles  with  compasses.  Here,  and  I  think 
in  nearly  all  work  with  Greek  roots  in  it, 
there  is  a  spiral  passion  which  drifts  every- 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  i8i 


thing  like  the  temple  of  the  winds;  this  is 
the  first  of  all  subtle  charms  in  the  real  work 
—  the  first  of  all  that  is  ai/SoVd  out  of  it  by 
the  restorer.  Do  you  recollect  (my  "  of  one 
mind"  with  my  friend)  the  quarrel  we  had 
about  the  patchwork  of  the  Spina  Chapel? 
I  think  you  will  recollect  the  little  twisted 
trefoil  there.  Of  course  in  the  restoration 
they 've  put  it  square.  And  it  is  n't  of  the 
slightest  use  to  point  any  of  these  things  out 
to  the  present  race  of  mankind.  It  is  finally 
tramwayed,  shamwayed,  and  eternally  damn- 
wayed,  and  I  wish  the  heavens  and  the  fates 
joy  over  it ;  but  they  can't  expect  any  help 
from  me,  whatever  they  mean  to  make  of  it. 

All  the  same,  it  seems  to  me  a  great  shame 
that  I 'm  old,  and  can't  see  it  come  to  grief ; 
nor  even  the  snows  come  back  to  the  Alps 
again,  if  they  do.  Again,  all  the  same,  I  '11 
run  back  to  Pisa  just  now  after  I 've  been  at 
Florence,  and  get  at  some  measures  for  you, 
if  I  find  them  takeable  on  the  Baptistery.  I 
did  the  Florentine  Baptistery  in  1872,  and 


i82     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


found  there  was  n't  a  single  space  in  all  the 
octagon  and  all  the  panelling,  that  matched 
another.  It  is  exactly  like  measuring  a  quartz 
crystal,  except  that  even  the  angles  are  n't 
fixed!  but  I  didn't  measure  any  of  them^ 
practically  they  are  true  enough  in  the  main 
octagon.  I  think  the  most  important  thing 
for  your  purposes  would  be  to  get  the  entasis 
of  the  great  campaniles  and  war-towers.  The 
Guinigi  here,  and  the  Verona  campanile,  and 
St.  Mark's  are  all  extremely  beautiful.  I  '11  see 
what  I  can  make  of  the  Guinigi  to-day,  and 
send  you  some  bits  of  masonry  worth  notice 
for  the  wanton  intricacy  of  piecing.  .  .  . 

Write  to  Sallenche.  It  is  safe  to  the  end 
of  October.  I  can't  stop  in  the  horror  of 
Italy  more  than  another  ten  days  or  so. 

Lucca,  9,  Morning,  i6th  October,  1882. 

I 've  just  got  your  letter  of  the  ist,  and 
have  only  been  out  for  a  little  walk  in  the 
dew,  and  to  see  the  Carrara  mountains,  and 
come  back,  round  the  Chapel  of  the  Madonna 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  183 


of  the  Rose,  to  answer  it.  I 'm  so  glad  you 
got  that  of  mine  from  Sallenches,  and  I  hope 
my  answer  to  the  Pisa  one  is  with  you  ere 
this.  I  Ve  done  some  curious  work  for  you 
since  on  the  walls  of  Fesole,  finding  out  also 
much  for  myself  on  them,  and  underneath 
them.  But  it's  the  Niagara  bit  I  want  to 
answer  to-day. 

There  seems  to  me  no  question  but  that 
this  generation  is  meant  to  destroy  of  the 
good  works  of  men  and  of  God,  pretty  nearly 
all  they  can  get  at.  But  —  what  next?  The 
temporary  help  to  Niagara,  or  poor  little 
fragments  saved  at  Pisa  or  Canterbury  are 
virtually  nothing,  unless  as  a  leaven,  and 
spark  in  ashes,  for  future  bread  and  fire. 
What  now  1  —  is  the  question  for  all  of  us. 
Here  in  Lucca,  I  was  drawing  last  night  a 
literal  bouquet  of  red  Campaniles.  Five  in 
a  cluster,  led  by  the  Guinigi  —  up  against 
amber  and  blue  sunset.  But,  they  must  all 
soon  come  down ;  the  wonder  is  they  Ve 
stood  so  long.    And  what  is  to  be  built  in- 


i84     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


stead?  —  chimneys?  or  minarets  of  muez- 
zin to  the  Religion  of  Humanity?  or  shot 
towers  ? 

Underneath  them,  Mr.  Collingwood,  sur^ 
veying  Lucca  for  me,  has  shaded  already 
fourteen  churches  with  12th  century  (or 
earlier)  fronts.  When  these  are  gone,  what 
is  to  vary  the  street  effects  ?  The  Italians 
think  Magazzmi,  but  what  think  Americans, 
the  better  sort  ?  .  .  . 

What  do  you  propose  to  make  of  the  new 
blank  world  which  Nature  herself  seems  re- 
solved to  sweep  clean  for  you,  down  to  her 
own  snows,  and  carry  off  the  last  ruins  of 
Italy  with  the  melting  of  them,  all  the  four 
bridges  of  Verona  gone  in  one  day's  swirl  of 
Adige. 

My  own  conviction  has  been  these  twenty 
years  that  when  the  wicked  had  destroyed 
all  the  work  of  good  people,  the  good  people 
would  get  up  and  destroy  theirs  ;  but,  though 
I  could  bombard  Birmingham,  and  choke  the 
St.  Gothard  tunnel,  and  roll  Niagara  over 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  185 


every  hotel  and  steamer  in  the  States,  to- 
morrow, I  still  don't  see  my  way  to  anything 
farther !  and  can't  lay  out  my  Nuova  Vita  on 
the  new  lines ! 

I  expect  a  London  architect  to  join  me 
here,  and  I  '11  take  him  to  Pisa  and  get  his 
notions  of  things,  and  measures.  The  Fesole 
findings  shall  soon  come  to  you.  .  .  . 

Ever  your  lovingest 

J.R. 

Pisa,  5th  November^  1882. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  I  have  been  longer 
than  I  meant  in  getting  back  here ;  but  what 
I  promised  will  be  all  the  better  done,  for 
now,  I  have  brought  with  me  Signor  Boni,' 
the  master  of  the  works  on  the  Ducal  palace 
of  Venice.  He  is  a  Venetian  of  the  old 
race,  and  a  man  of  the  purest  temper  and 
feeling.  He  has  the  Government  authority 
to  examine  any  public  building  he  wishes,  so 
that  he  can  put  ladders  and  scaffolding  where 

«  The  eminent  and  admirable  architect  and  archaeologist. 


i86     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


he  likes  here ;  and  he 's  getting  the  Cathedral 
levels  and  measures  to  a  centimetre.  But 
he,  and  I,  and  my  secretary,  who  is  a  good 
draughtsman,  are  all  agreed  on  the  main 
point,  that  there  is  no  endeavour  to  obtain 
deceptive  perspectives  anywhere  —  but  only 
to  get  continual  variety  of  line,  and  an  al- 
most exulting  delight  in  conquering  difficul- 
ties or  introducing  anomalies,  which  is  rather 
provoked  to  frolic  than  subdued  by  any  inter- 
ference of  accident.  It  seems  probable  that 
the  five  western  arches  of  the  nave  were 
added  after  the  rest  with  less  careful  founda- 
tion, and  that  they  sank  away  from  the  rest 
—  so.'  When  the  subsidence  stopped,  they 
took  the  cornice  off  all,  rebuilt  the  arch  a,  of 
junction,  and  threw  the  cornice  up,  to  bal- 
ance the  fall  by  opposition.  This,  of  course, 
is  a  violent  exaggeration  —  but  the  actual 
interval  at  b  is  about  three  feet.  The  most 
curious  point  of  all  being  that  they  have  used 
a  thicker  moulding  for  three  arches  at  the 

*  See  facsimile. 


,^C^j---c&^^ 


4*- 


or 

0 

^  ^4  ^  '^---^  f^  "-^i-^. 


A 


3 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  187 


junction,  so  that  they  only  touch  the  cor- 
nice. Then  shafts  of  upper  court  are  dimin- 
ished down,  westward,  the  whole  way,  sloping 
a  little  in  harmony  with  the  fallen  arches.  I 
beg  your  pardon  for  scrawling  so,  but  I 've 
been  doing  a  lot  of  rather  hard  drawing  this 
week,  and  am  tired,  only  I  just  wanted  to  tell 
you  we  were  at  work  for  you. 

The  discovery  I  spoke  to  you  of  at  Fesole 
was  made  possible  to  me  by  the  recent  exca- 
vation of  part  of  the  wall  to  the  foundation  on 
the  native  rock.  You  know  the  superb  fitting 
of  the  varied  joints  of  the  wall,  etc.,  etc.  — 
Well,  when  I  got  to  the  rock  surface,  I  found 
the  surface  cleavage  of  its  beds  A — B  seen 
from  above  thus : '  AB  is  the  line  of  the  wall 
base,  and  the  rock  they  built  it  of  and  on, 
was  simply  imitated  by  them. 

I  Ve  kept  quite  well  all  the  while  I  Ve  been 
in  Italy,  but  have  just  caught  a  little  cold 
which  makes  me  languid  and  scrawly.  There 's 
nothing  but  sneezing  likely  to  come  of  it,  and 
'  See  facsimile. 


i88     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


this  Guy  Fawkes  day  is  as  warm  and  sweet 
here  as  it  is  always  wretched  in  London.  So 
I  hope  to  write  a  better  report  soon. 

Address  now  to  Heme  Hill.  I 'm  afraid 
S.'s  photograph  is  at  Annecy,  and  I  shall 
not  get  it  till  next  week  at  soonest.  I  must 
content  myself  meanwhile  with  the  pretty 
Pisans.  Ever  your  lovingest 

J.R. 

Herne  Hill,  ist  January^  1883. 

Darling  Charles,  —  What  a  venomous 
old  infidel  you  are !  I  think  I  never  read  a 
nastier  comment  on  a  lovely  theory  than  that 
"  other  walls  are  like  Fesole  that  are  not  on 
the  like  rocks."  I  don't  believe  there  are  any 
other  walls  like  Fesole.  You  could  n't  build 
them  but  of  macigno,  and  I  don't  know  any 
macigno  anywhere  else.  Yes.  I  got  draw- 
ings —  fairly  careful,  of  wall  and  rock  —  both. 

Those  Pisan  details  are  quite  delightful, 
but  I  think  Boni's  report  will  be  exhaustive 
—  he  has  got  his  measures  to  a  centimeter, 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  189 


and  has  such  a  knowledge  of  cements  and 
joints  that  nothing  escapes  him.  I  send  you  a 
present  of  one  of  his  Httle  drawings  of  orna- 
ment, which  will  show  you  the  infinite  fine- 
ness of  the  creature. 

I 'm  very  well,  and  doing  crystallography 
and  geology ;  I  think  my  good  assistant  Col- 
lingwood  will  get  the  glacier  theory  well 
swept  out  of  the  way  at  last.  .  .  . 

Ever  your  lovingest 

J.  R. 

Oxford,  loth  March,  1883. 

My  dearest  Charles,  —  Emerson  and  Car- 
lyle  came  to  me  about  a  week  since,  and  I  am 
nearly  through  them,  grateful  heartily  for  the 
book,  and  the  masterful  index ;  but  much  dis- 
appointed at  having  no  word  of  epitaph  from 
yourself  on  both  the  men. 

The  Emerson  letters  are  infinitely  sweet 
and  wise ;  here  and  there,  as  in  p.  30,  vol.  ii., 
unintelligible  to  me.  C 's,  like  all  the  words 
of  him  published  since  his  death,  have  vexed 


IQO      LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


me,  and  partly  angered,  with  their  perpetual 
"  me  miserum  "  —  never  seeming  to  feel  the 
extreme  ill  manners  of  this  perpetual  whine ; 
and,  to  what  one  dares  not  call  an  affected, 
but  a  quite  unconsciously  false  extent,  hiding 
the  more  or  less  of  pleasure  which  a  strong 
man  must  have  in  using  his  strength,  be  it 
but  in  heaving  aside  dustheaps. 

What  in  my  own  personal  way  I  chiefly 
regret  and  wonder  at  in  him  is,  the  percep- 
tion in  all  nature  of  nothing  between  the 
stars  and  his  stomach,  —  his  going,  for  in- 
stance, into  North  Wales  for  two  months, 
and  noting  absolutely  no  Cambrian  thing  or 
event,  but  only  increase  of  Carlylian  bile. 

Not  that  I  am  with  you  in  thinking  Froude 
^  wrong  about  the  "  Reminiscences."  They  are 
,  to  me  full  of  his  strong  insight,  and  in  their 
distress,  far  more  pathetic  than  these  bowlings 
of  his  earlier  life  about  Cromwell  and  others 
of  his  quite  best  works ;  but  I  am  vexed  for 
want  of  a  proper  Epilogue  of  your  own. 

I  came  here  from  Brantwood  through  driv- 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  191 


ing  snow  —  sprinkling,  but  vicious  in  the 
whiffs  —  on  Thursday,  and  found  people  glad 
to  see  me,  and  elbowing  each  other  to  hear, 
so  that  I  had  to  give  the  one  lecture  I  had 
really  for  them,  twice  over.  It  will  be  in  print 
next  week,  and  quickly  sent  you.  .  .  . 

How  much  better  right  than  C.  have  I  to 
say,  "  Ay  de  mi  ?  " 

I  am  going  to  leave  to-morrow,  but  return 
after  Easter  to  set  things  further  ahead  here : 
a  new  edition  of  second  volume  of  "  Modern 
Painters,"  not  without  comment  and  epilogue, 
will  be  out  by  that  time,  and  I  hope  to  amuse 
you.  There  are  no  threatening  symptoms, 
yet,  as  in  former  springs,  of  any  returning 
illness,  but  I  am  well  taught  the  need  of  cau- 
tion. .  .  . 

Ever  your  grateful  and  loving 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Herne  Hill,  15th  March,  1883. 

Here's  your  note  of  fearing  question  — 
just  come.  I  hope  mine  about  your  Emerson 


192     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


book  is  by  this  time  at  sea ;  but  it 's  a  delight 
to  me  to  follow  it  with  further  assurance  of 
my  hitherto  safety  this  year.  As  far  as  I  can 
judge,  there  is  no  threatening,  for  I  sleep 
quite  soundly,  and  long  enough,  and  people 
say  I  am  looking  well.  But  it  is  curious  that 
I  really  look  back  to  all  those  illnesses,  except 
some  parts  of  the  first,  with  a  kind  of  regret 
to  have  come  back  to  the  world.  Life  and 
Death  were  so  wonderful,  mingled  together 
like  that  —  the  hope  and  fear,  the  scenic 
majesty  of  delusion  so  awful  —  sometimes 
so  beautiful.  In  this  little  room,  where  the 
quite  prosy  sunshine  is  resting  quietly  on  my 
prosy  table  —  last  year,  at  this  very  time,  I 
saw  the  stars  rushing  at  each  other  —  and 
thought  the  lamps  of  London  were  gliding 
through  the  night  into  a  World  Collision. 
I  took  my  pretty  Devonshire  farm-girl  Nurse 
for  a  Black  Vision  of  Judgment;  when  I 
found  I  was  still  alive,  a  tinkly  Italian  organ 
became  to  me  the  music  of  the  Spheres.  No- 
thing was  more  notable  to  me  through  the  ill- 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  193 


ness  than  the  general  exaltation  of  the  nerves 
of  sight  and  hearing,  and  their  power  of 
making  colour  and  sound  harmonious  as 
well  as  intense  —  with  alternation  of  faintness 
and  horror  of  course.  But  I  learned  so  much 
about  the  nature  of  Phantasy  and  Phantasm 
—  it  would  have  been  totally  inconceivable 
to  me  without  seeing,  how  the  unreal  and 
real  could  be  mixed. 

I 'm  not  going  to  stay  in  London,  but  go 
down  to  my  lake  again  till  after  Easter,  when 
I 'm  going  to  give  a  lecture  on  Burne-Jones, 
exclusively ;  and  then  one  on  Leighton  and 
Watts.  Leighton  has  won  my  heart  by 
painting  some  extremely  pretty  girls,  whom 
I  can't  but  with  much  deprecation  of  myself 
extremely  prefer  to  the  old  hard  outlined  Man- 
tegnas  and  Leonardos  and  the  like. 

Love  to  S.  accordingly,  and  I  am 
Ever  your  penitent 

Author  of  "  Modern  Painters." 

I  found  I  was  really  rather  bored  by  Lippi 
and  the  rest  of  them,  this  time  ! ! ! 


194     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Brantwood,  1 6th  April,  1883. 

Darling  Charles, —  I  Ve  been  out  on  the 
lake  in  as  strong  wind  as  I  could  hold  the 
boat  against  —  with  Miss  Kate  Greenaway 
sitting  at  the  stern  of  my  little  "Jumping 
Jenny,"  and  my  hand  shakes  a  little  now, 
but  I  must  answer  your  kind  letter  the  day 
I  get  it,  chiefly  to  thank  you  for  the  strong 
and  precious  words  about  Carlyle.  My  one 
question  about  a  man  is,  whether  his  work 
be  right  or  not.  Pope's  lies,  or  Byron's,  in 
the  Walty  affair  and  the  like,  or  Carlyle's 
egoisms,  or  my  own  follies,  or  Turner's,  I 
recognize  as  disease  or  decay,  or  madness, 
and  take  no  interest  in  the  nosology;  but 
I  never  excuse  them,  or  think  them  merely 
stomachic,  but  spiritual  disease.  .  .  . 

I  should  like  to  see  Volterra ;  but  unless 
it  is  of  macigno  it  can't  be  like  Fesole,  any 
more  than  Perugia  can  be  like  Mycenae. 
Pisa  is  really  done  by  Signor  Boni ;  but  I 
am  so  terribly  afraid  of  my  brains  going 
again  (I  like  your  saying  I 'm  not  cautious !) 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  195 


that  I  can't  see  to  its  carrying  out  at  present. 
I  Ve  a  book  on  the  Alps  by  Mr.  Colling- 
wood  going  on,  and  another  of  which  I  hope 
to  send  you  a  copy  swiftly  by  an  American 
girl.  The  "  Modern  Painters  "  shall  be  found 
directly. 

Ever  your  lovingest 

J.R. 

Oxford,  19th  June^  '83. 
Darling  Charles,  —  I  Ve  just  finished  my 
spring  work  (and  note  paper)  here,  and  have 
only  to  say  how  thankful  I  am  that  you  're 
coming,  and  that  I  am  well  enough  to  make 
you  happier  by  coming  —  or  going  —  any- 
where with  you ;  but  the  first  thing  must  be 
that  you  come  straight  to  Brantwood  and 
stay  there  enough  to  see  what 's  there,  and 
then  I  '11  come  with  you  as  far  as  here,  any- 
how. I 'm  not  my  own  master  quite,  this 
year,  but  we  '11  see,  and  think.  I  '11  write 
again  from  Brantwood  if  I  get  there  safe  — 
I  always  think  of  railway  as  of  sea  —  and 


196     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


write  this  at  any  rate  to  be  sure  of  meeting 
you  when  you  land.    Ever  your  loving 

John  Ruskin. 

Brantwood,  24th  June^  1883. 

Darling  Charles,  — ...  I  expect  you  to- 
morrow —  or  Tuesday  —  or  —  Wednesday  at 
latest,  and  I  don't  think  you  'II  want  to  start 
directly,  even  for  Switzerland.  I  can't,  at  all 
events  before  the  end  of  July,  if  then  ;  but  I 
have  to  go  back  to  Oxford  first,  and  doubtless 
you  will  have  to  be  in  London  a  little  while. 

I  expect  a  nice  girl  here  to-day  .  .  .  who 
will  probably  stay  for  a  week,  —  Flora  Shaw, 
a  soldier's  daughter,  and  a  really  clever  and 
right-minded  story-writer,  who  will  be  very 
happy  with  us,  and  you  not  less  at  ease,  I 
hope,  than  if  she  were  n't  here. 

Ever  your  lovingest         J.  R. 

Brantwood,  28th  July^  1883. 
.  .  .  What  a  shame  that  I 've  never  said  a 
word  since  you  left;  but  somehow  I  can't 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  197 


believe  in  the  existence  nor  mediatorship  of 
Messrs.  Baring. 

To-day  I  have  your  note  from  blessed 
Domo  d'  Ossola  —  and  I  would  I  were  there. 
But  I 've  got  entangled  in  ground  veronica 
and  Anagallis  tenella —  and  am  sick  to  finish 
some  work  in  weeds  half  done  years  ago; 
and  the  ideas  of  it  festering  in  my  head  ever 
since ;  and  worse,  I 've  letters  from  the  Keeper 
of  National  Gallery,  and  Librarian  of  British 
Museum     and  the  British  Museum  is  being 
broken  up,  and  the  National  Gallery  wants 
its  plates  and  drawings ;  and  the  British  Mu- 
seum writes  to  me  to  defend  it  —  and  I 've 
written  back  that  I 'm  going  to  advise  send- 
ing the  Manuscripts  to  the  Bodleian,  and 
putting  the  sculpture  in  the  National  Gal- 
lery cellars ;  but  I  must  go  up  to  London 
to  get  well  into  the  row;  and  I  don't  see 
my  way  out  of  it,  and  believe  it  will  be  very 
utterly  impossible  for  me  to  get  abroad  this 
year  —  even  as  far  as  Chart  res  —  but  it  is 
possible  you  might  like  to  look  at  Wells  and 


198     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Glastonbury  with  me,  rather  than  come  to 
autumnal  Brantwood.  I'll  write  more  to- 
morrow  of  what  I 'm  doing.  .  .  . 

All  our  loves,  and  all  manner  of  every 
other  pleasant  feeling  mixed  in  mine. 
Your  ever  faithful  and  —  obedient 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Brantwood,  Sunday,  29th  July^  '83. 
Darling  Charles,  —  Instead  of  telling 
you  more  of  what  I  am  about,  I  want  to 
press  on  you  to  use  your  time  at  Milan  in 
getting  rid  of  your  respect  for  Leonardo. 
He  was  meant  for  a  botanist  and  engineer, 
not  a  painter  at  all ;  his  caricatures  are  both 
foolish  and  filthy,  —  filthy  from  mere  ugli- 
ness ;  and  he  was  more  or  less  mad  in  pur- 
suing minutiae  all  his  days.  Study  the  St. 
Stephen  in  the  Monasterio  Maggiore,  and 
what  you  can  find  of  Luini  in  the  Brera,  al- 
ternately with  the  smirking  profiles  in  the 
Ambrosian  library ;  but  above  all,  the  pure 
pale  Christ  in  left  hand  chapel  in  St.  Am- 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  199 


brogio  —  also  the  grand  Maries  opposite  — 
by  his  companion  fresco  painter.  You  will 
find  there  is  really  never  a  bit  of  colour  of 
the  smallest  interest  in  Leonardo,  nor  a 
thought  worth  thinking,  and  his  light  and 
shade  is  always,  one  side  light  against  dark, 
the  other  dark  against  light  —  and  he's 
done  for!  When  did  you  ever  see  either 
a  profile  or  full  face  by  Leonardo  in  mid- 
dle tint  against  light  behind  ? 

Don't  waste  time  in  going  to  Saronno. 
Look  and  think  in  the  Brera,  and  then  go 
back  to  the  hills. 

Ever  your  lovingest 

J.R. 

Brantwood,  2nd  August. 

Darling  Charles,  —  I 've  got  a  quiet  time 
now  —  Joanie  away  at  a  wedding;  and  I  Ve 
given  up  a  journey  to  London,  which  the 
summer 's  too  short  for,  and  have  been  read- 
ing some  bits  of  old  diary,  in  which  the  ink 
is  getting  pale. 


200     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


I  should  like  you  to  have  the  burning  of 
these  things,  when  I 've  done  with  them.  I 
don't  see  much  what  else  is  to  be  done ;  but 
it  may  be  in  your  heart  perhaps  to  give  a 
day  or  two  here  to  talk  over  the  matter,  only 
I  don't  want  you  to  shorten  your  Italian 
time.  .  .  . 

I  hope  to-day  to  do  a  quiet  bit  of  leaf- 
drawing — once  more,  —  a  little  rod  of  Ve- 
ronica officinalis. 

I  hope  you  're  being  very  good  and  find- 
ing out  the  folly  in  Leonardo,  and  that  you 
haven't  so  much  plague  cloud  as  we  have 
here.  But  we  had  one  quite  clear,  beatific 
day  last  week. 

I  read  about  the  Ischian  convulsion  yes- 
terday. What  do  the  Gods  mean  ?  How  sol- 
emnly we  in  England  and  you  in  America 
should  cherish  the  life  on  safe  rock  and  un- 
der clement  sky. 

Ever  your  lovingest 

J.  R. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  201 


Brant  WOOD,  25th  February,  1884. 

...  I  can't  write,  because  I 've  always  so 
much  to  say.  How  can  I  tell  you  anything  of 
the  sea  of  troubles  that  overwhelm  old  age  — 
the  trouble  of  troubles  being  that  one  can't 
take  trouble  enough. 

At  this  moment  I 'm  arranging  a  case  at 
the  British  Museum,  to  show  the  whole  his- 
tory of  silica,  and  I 'm  lending  them  a  perfect 
octahedral  crystal  of  diamond  weighing  129 
carats,  which  I  mean  to  call  St.  George's 
diamond,  and  to  head  my  history  of  precious 
stones.  And  I 'm  giving  them  dreadful  ele- 
mentary exercises  at  Oxford  which  they  mew 
and  howl  over,  and  are  forced  to  do,  never- 
theless ;  and  I 'm  writing  the  life  of  Sta.  Zita 
of  Lucca ;  and  an  essay,  in  form  of  lecture, 
on  clouds,  which  has  pulled  me  into  a  lot  of 
work  on  diffraction  and  fluorescence;  and 
I 've  given  Ernest  Chesneau '  a  commission 
to  write  a  life  of  Turner  from  a  French  point 

I  Author  of  a  book  on  the  Ecole  Anglaise,  of  which  the 
translation  was  edited  by  Ruskin. 


203     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


of  view  —  under  my  chastisement  "  if  too 
French;"  and  I  Ve  just  got  the  preface  writ- 
ten for  Collingwood's  "  Alps  of  Savoy,"  sup- 
plement to  "  Deucalion ; "  and  I 'm  teaching 
Kate  Greenaway  the  principles  of  Carpaccio, 
and  Kate's  drawing  beautiful  young  ladies 
for  me  in  clusters,  —  to  get  oflF  Carpaccio  if 
she  can. 

And  'I  Ve  given  Boehm  a  commission  for 
12  flat  medallions,  Florentine  manner,  life 
size,  of  six  British  men  and  six  British  wo- 
men, of  typical  character  in  beauty ;  all  to 
be  looking  straight  forward  in  pure  profile, 
and  to  have  their  hair  treated  with  the  Greek 
furrow. 

And  I 'm  beginning  to  reform  the  drama, 
by  help  of  Miss  Anderson ;  and  I  had  "  The 
Tempest "  played  to  me  last  week  by  four 
little  beauties  —  George  Richmond's  grand- 
children —  of  whom  the  youngest  (i  i)  played 
Ferdinand  and  Caliban,  both,  and  was  a  quite 
perfect  lover ;  and  the  eldest  played  the  boat- 
swain and  Miranda.  And  I 've  given  three 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  203 


sets  of  bells  (octaves)  to  Coniston  school, 
and  am  making  the  children  learn  chimes. 

And  I 'm  doing  a  "  Fors  "  now  and  then 
in  a  byeway ;  Allen  will  have  a  nice  parcel 
to  send  soon.  And  I 'm  here  at  Herne  Hill 
—  and  I 'm  just  going  down  to  breakfast,  .  .  . 
and  I  can't  write  any  more.  I 'm  pretty  well,  I 
believe  —  but  watching  for  breakdown.  .  .  . 
I 'm  ever 

Your  poor  old 

J.  R. 

I  am  so  glad  you  can  remember  with  happi- 
ness. I  live  wholly  to-day,  and  sadly  enough, 
except  in  work  (or  wicked  flirting).  But, 
though  I  say  it,  nice  girls  do  make  quite 
as  much  fuss  about  me  as  I  do  about  them, 
and  they  plague  my  life  out  to  sign  their 
birthday  books. 

Brantwood,  ist  June,  1884. 

Dearest  Charles, — A  thousand  welcomes, 
and  please  come  here  as  soon  as  you  possibly 
can.  I  have  more  reasons  for  asking  you  to 


204     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


do  so  than  my  impatience  to  see  you,  but  I 
think  that  great  one  is  enough  —  though  the 
rest  are  not  little  ones.  Joan's  love  and  wel- 
come, with  all  her  heart  and  mind  —  and 
Turner's,  and  my  father's  and  mother's ;  and 
I 'm  ever        Your  loving  and  grateful 

John  Ruskin. 

EusTON  Hotel  [London],  7th  Oct.,  '84. 

It  has  been  a  great  mortification  and  dis- 
appointment to  me  not  to  see  S.  again ;  but 
the  world 's  made  up  of  morts  and  disses, 
and  it 's  no  use  always  saying  "  Ay  de  mi !  "  ' 
like  Carlyle.  I 'm  really  ashamed  of  him  in 
those  letters  to  Emerson.  My  own  diaries 
are  indeed  full  of  mewing  and  moaning,  all 
to  myself,  but  I  think  my  letters  to  friends 
have  more  a  tendency  to  crowing,  or,  at  least, 
on  the  whole,  try  to  be  pleasant. 

I 've  great  gladness  in  your  note  about 
S.  W.  Wind.  I  shall  have  you  sending  me 
nice  sympathetic  data  about  your  glaciers, 
soon.  .  .  . 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  205 


I  am  just  going  down  to  Canterbury — to 
Oxford  next  week,  to  begin  lectures  on  the 
pleasures  of  England. 


1.  Bertha  to  Osburga, 

2.  Alfred  to  Confessor, 

3.  Confessor  to  Coeur  de  L., 

4.  Coeur  de  L.  to  Eliz., 

5.  Protestantism, 

6.  Atheism, 

7.  Mechanism, 


Pleasure  of  Learning. 
Faith. 
"  Deed. 
"       "  Fancy. 

"  Truth. 
"  "  Sense. 
"       "  Nonsense. 


I 'm  pretty  well  forward  with  them,  —  but 
they  're  not  up  to  my  best  work. 

Ever  your  loving  J.  R. 

Canterbury,  9th  October,  1884. 

Dearest  Charles,  — ....  i  caught  cold, 
slightly,  as  soon  as  I  left  Brantwood  on 
Wednesday  last,  and  am  nursing  myself,  with 
the  help  of  two  dear  old  ladies  in  the  pre- 
cincts of  Canterbury.  For  the  first  time  yes- 
terday I  saw  St.  Martin's  Church,  and  the 
view  it  commands  of  the  county  gaol.  I  re- 


206     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


treat  to-day  to  my  bedside,  whence  I  have  a 
lovely  view  of  Becket's  crown,  and  the  Cen- 
tral Tower  —  the  domestic  looking  little  apse 
between  them  is  now  rich  in  sunlight,  —  but 
Lucca  and  Pisa  have  spoiled  me. 

I  am  getting  such  lovely  work  done  in 
Switzerland  and  Savoy  by  the  writer  of  en- 
closed card,  which  I  send  that  you  may  envy 
us  both,  and  come  back  as  soon  as  you  can 
to  see  the  "  subject  by  the  river." 

These  drawings  he  (Mr.  Rooke  is  draw- 
ing for  me  are  the  first  I  ever  had  done  as  I 
wanted,  and  as  I  should  have  done  them 
myself,  if  only  I  had  never  written  "  Modern 
Painters." 

The  first  number  of  its  reprint  —  which 

is  to  be  in  three  parts  :  In  Montibus  Sanctis, 

Coeli  Enarrant,  and  Laetitia  Silvae  (or  some 

such  name)  —  is  passed  for  press.  .  .  . 

Your  lovingest 

J.  R. 

*  Mr.  T.  M.  Rooke,  whose  drawings,  admirable  in  skill 
and  fidelity  and  full  of  appreciation  of  the  poetic  elements  of 
his  subjects,  deserve  all  the  praise  which  Ruskin  gives  them. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  207 


Brantwood,  2nd  January^  1885. 

...  I  am  not  so  well  as  you  hoped,  having 
overstrained  myself  under  strong  impulse  at 
Oxford,  and  fallen  back  now  into  a  ditch  of 
despond,  deepened  by  loss  of  appetite  and 
cold  feet,  and  dark  weather, — Joan  in  London 
and  people  all  about  more  or  less  depending 
on  me  ;  no  S.  or  M.  for  me  to  depend  on  — 
no  Charles  —  no  Carlyle.  Even  my  Turners 
for  the  time  speechless  to  me,  my  crystals  lus- 
treless. After  some  more  misery  and  desola- 
tion of  this  nature  I  hope,  however,  to  revive 
slowly,  and  will  really  not  trust  tnyself  in 
that  feeling  of  power  any  more.  But  it  seems 
to  me  as  if  old  age  were  threatening  to  be  a 
weary  time  for  me.  I  '11  never  mew  about  it 
like  Carlyle,  nor  make  Joanie  miserable  if  I 
know  it  —  but  it  looks  to  me  very  like  as 
if  I  should  take  to  my  bed  and  make  every- 
body wait  on  me.  This  is  only  to  send  you 
love  —  better  news  I  hope  soon. 

Ever  your 

J.  R. 


2o8     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


Brantwood,  1st  October,  '85. 

Dearest  Charles,  —  I  am  certainly  better, 
and  at  present  steadily  gaining,  bearing  the 
burden  of  idle  hours  in  the  thankfulness 
that  I  am  myself  no  longer  a  burden  to  poor 
Joanie.  But  she  insists  on  the  idleness,  and 
will  not  let  me  write  —  but  only  dictate,  and 
truly  it  will  be  better  for  you  to  have  in  her 
hand  the  rest  of  this  note. 

In  the  looking  over  the  neglects  of  past 
life!  I  found  a  lovely  letter  of  yours  of  1882, 
about  the  Cathedral  of  Pisa,  giving  evidence 
of  the  fa9ade  being  meant  to  incline  forward. 
Neglected  alike  in  that  year,  the  result  of 
Signer  Boni's  examination,  which  I  suppose 
he  has  written  out  —  of  course  it  is  lost ; 
but  I 'm  going  to  ask  him  this  question 
about  the  fagade.  The  letter  goes  on  very 
sadly  about  the  "victory  of  materialism," 
and  the  distant  hope  of  a  revival  in  a  thou- 
sand years,  of  all  that  you  and  I  have  cared 
for  —  only  the  Alps  to  be  let  go  in  the  mean- 
time ! 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  209 


I  believe  the  despondency  caused  by  their 
own  natural,  as  it  seems,  sympathy,  with  the 
scorn  of  their  beauty,  by  the  perishing  of 
their  snows,  has  borne  a  great  part  in  the 
steady  depression  which  has  laid  me  open  to 
these  great  illnesses.  If  only  the  Mont  Blanc 
that  you  and  I  saw  from  St.  Martin's  that 
morning  was  still  there,  I  would  set  out  on  a 
slow  pedestrian  tour,  and  expect  you  to  meet 
me  there !  As  it  is,  I  can't  find  anything  to 
amuse  me,  or  to  bring  to  any  good  in  my  old 
geological  work ;  but  I  don't  believe  in  any 
"  victory  of  materialism."  The  last  two  years 
have  shown  me  more  spirituality  in  the  world 
than  all  my  former  life. 

Enough  for  to-day. 

Ever  your  lovingest 

J.  RUSKIN. 

Brantwood,  20th  October^  '  85. 

Dearest  Charles, —  I  am  so  very  glad  you 
have  got  those  letters  to  edit.  Carlyle  is  en- 
V\  tirely  himself  when  he  stops  talking  of  him- 


2IO     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


self;  but  I  totally  disagree  with  you  about 
the  wife  letters  being  sacred.  .  .  . 

I  can't  give  you  my  letters,  because  I  must 
use  them  in  autobiography.  I  use  very  few 
of  anybody's  —  the  purpose  of  the  book  be- 
ing simply  to  say  how  I  got  my  knowledge 
of  art  and  principles  of  —  Economy !  There 
may  be  a  post  mortem  examination  of  my 
loves  and  friendships. 

I  have  got  back  some  interest  in  things  I 
used  to  care  for,  and  am  looking  a  little  into 
things  I  did  n't.  Do  you  happen  —  or  does 
anybody  at  Harvard,  know  where  there 's  a 
human  book  (not  a  scientific  one)  on  crabs, 
and  shrimps  ?  The  Dragon 's  out,  or  I  should 
never  have  got  all  this  written. 

Ever  your  lovingest 

J.R. 

Brantwood,  Easter  Wednesday,  '86. 

Dearest  Charles,  —  I  am  entirely  for- 
bidden to  write  letters,  and  I 've  written  seven 
difficult  ones  this  morning  —  and  this  eighth 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  211 


has  been  on  my  mind  this  month.  I  thought 
you  might  be  wondering  what  I  meant  to 
make  of  "  Praeterita,"  if  I  live  to  finish  it — 
and  that  you  ought  to  know.  There  are  to 
be  36  numbers  —  for  sixty  years.  You  and 
Joan  may  give  account  of  me  afterwards. 
I 've  got  it  all  planned  out  now ;  and  it  will 
be  pretty  and  readable  enough  I  think,  all 
through.  .  .  . 

I  am  retouching  and  mounting  drawings 
also,  and  liking  my  own  better;  and  when 
you  come  to  see  Brantwood  again,  whether 
I 'm  in  it  or  not,  you  will  find  it  in  a  little 
better  order.  .  .  . 

Brantwood,  i6th  May. 

My  very  dear  Charles,  —  Thank  you, 
very  heartily,  for  returning  me  the  two  draw- 
ings—  but  you  wholly  misunderstand  my 
motive  in  asking  their  return. 

It  is  not  for  myself,  but  for  my  scholars 
and  lovers  that  I  ask  them.  There  is  no 
drawing  of  a  stone  by  my  hand  so  good  as 


212     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 

your  boulder  — few  of  the  church  I  love  best 
so  good  as  that  arch  of  St.  Mark's/ 

America,  as  long  as  she  worships  Mr. 
Chase,  and  pirates  the  teaching  of  the  living, 
and  taxes  the  teaching  of  the  dead,  can  get 
no  good  of  work  or  word  of  mine,  and  no 
friend  of  mine  should  disgrace  my  work  by 
keeping  it  there. 

...  I  hope  this  year  to  retain  my  power  of 
managing  my  own  servants,  and  walking  in 
my  own  woods.  You  shall  hear  from  me,  if  I 
do  so.  If  I  am  shut  up  again,  you  may  at 
all  events  be  thankful  I  can't  say  naughty 
things  about  America. 

Ever  your  faithful  friend, 

J.R. 

Brantwood,  24th  Juney  '86. 

Darling  Charles,  —  I  saw  your  nice  note 
to  Joan  the  other  day,  and  vowed  I  must 
write  at  once. 

Two  —  three  days  have  passed,  irksome  or 

^  Both  in  my  possession  now. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  213 


more  or  less  pro-vocantive  things  keeping  me 
otherwise  busy.  To-day  I  have  had  pen  in 
hand  since  the  morning  —  now  three  after- 
noon —  windy  nothingness  instead  of  lake  — 
no  going  out.  I  was  going  to  lie  down  on  the 
sofa  to  try  to  sleep,  when  I  saw  your  third 
vol.  M.  P.  with  all  those  lovely  annotations 
laid  out  for  conference  with  my  own  final 
opinions  !  So  I  began  peeping  and  muttering 
—  and  now  I 've  just  come  on  the  passage  I 
think  worth  all  the  rest  of  the  book,  marked 
"  Omit  to  end  of  chapter." 

I  was  getting  a  little  dull,  myself,  over  the 
Campo  Santo  of  Pisa  (chap.  vi.  vol.  ii.  "  Prae- 
terita  "),  and  feared  the  reader  would  say  the 
book  had  better  stop  now.  But  in  chap.  x. 
(Vevay)  I  propose  to  give  an  account  of  a 
steamboat  passage  thence  to  Geneva,  and 
some  farther  passages  of  the  year  1856  — 
and  I  think  the  "  Omit  to  end  of  chapter  " 
will  be  the  loveliest  finish  for  it.  I  think  I 
shall  begin  to-morrow  morning,  D.  V. 

Not  but  there 's  some  sense  in  some  of  the 


214     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


annotations,  but  on  the  whole,  I  consider  the 
book  has  the  best  of  it,  and  the  only  obser- 
vations I  feel  inclined  now  to  attend  to  are 
such  as  "  The  analysis  of  this  temper  needs  to 
be  carried  farther  " !  etc. 

Quite  seriously,  I  am  very  thankful  to  find 
the  book  has  so  much  good  in  it,  and  am  a 
good  deal  cheered  after  being  for  the  last 
month  or  two  weeks  sick  hearted  enough  in 
thinking  of  what  I  might  have  done  instead. 

The  weather  has  been  worse  than  depress- 
ing. Night  without  stars  —  day  without 
evening  or  morning  —  and  all  the  garden 
blighted  for  the  year.  My  chief  comfort  has 
been  in  reading  Carlyle's  descriptions  of  peo- 
ple. I 've  got  Froude's  leave  to  take  them  all 
out  and  edit  them  myself  —  if  only  —  only  — 
I  get  a  little  strong  next  year.  My  chief  dis- 
comfort is  .  .  .  and  my  beard's  getting  thin 
and  stiff,  and  general  dilapidation  of  the 
stones  yet  left  on  one  another  —  in  Venice 
or  me.  ...  I  was  glad  to  see  Moore  again, 
and  hope  to  be  somewhat  helpful  to  him. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  215 


When  shall  I  see  you?  You  really  ought 
to  look  at  our  lovely  England  again  — as  a 
Manufacturing  town.  Oliver  Wendell  seenas 
delighted  — and  says  he  has  seen  hawthorn. 
/  h^ve  n't  this  spring.    Ever  your  lovingest 

St.  C. 

Brantwood,  i8th  Augttst,  '86. 
My  dearest  Charles, -You  ought  not 
to  be  so  anxious  during  these  monsoons  and 
cyclones  of  my  poor  old  plagued  brains. 
They  clear  off,  and  leave  me,  to  say  the  least, 
as  wise  as  I  was  before.  Certainly  this  last 
fit  has  been  much  nastier  for  me  than  any 
yet,  and  has  left  me  more  frightened,  but  not 

so  much  hurt,  as  the  last  one   Send 

me  a  line  now  and  then  still,  please, - 
whether  I 'm  mad  or  not  I 'm 

Your  loving        J.  R. 


Brantwood,  28th  Aug.,  '86. 
Darling  Charles,  —  Your  note  to  Joan 
of  the  13th  is  extraordinarily  pious,  for  you! 


2i6     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


and  not  a  bit  true!  It  is  not  the  Lord's  hand, 
but  my  own  folly,  that  brings  these  illnesses 
on  me ;  and  as  long  as  they  go  off  again,  you 
needn't  be  so  mighty  grave  about  them. 
How  many  wiser  folk  than  I  go  mad  for 
good  and  all,  or  bad  and  all,  like  poor  Tur- 
ner at  the  last,  Blake  always,  Scott  in  his 
pride,  Irving  in  his  faith,  and  Carlyle,  be- 
cause of  the  poultry  next  door.  You  had 
better,  by  the  way,  have  gone  crazy  for  a 
month  yourself  than  written  that  niggling 
and  naggling  article  on  Froude 's  misprints.' 

I  learn  a  lot  in  these  fits  of  the  way  one 
sees,  hears,  and  fancies  things,  in  morbid  con- 
ditions of  nerve.  ...  I  suffer  no  pain  whatso- 
ever, and  am  not  the  least  frightened  for  my- 
self. ...  Part  of  this  last  vision,  in  which  a 
real  thunderstorm  came  to  play  its  own  part, 
was  terrific  and  sublime  more  than  anybody 
can  see,  sane  (unless  perchance  they  are  to 

*  For  some  years  past  Ruskin  had  been  on  terms  of  cor- 
dial friendliness  with  Froude,  and  much  influenced  by  him, 
especially  in  his  view  of  Froude's  dealings  with  the  trust 
committed  to  him  by  Carlyle. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  217 


be  swallowed  up  by  Etna  or  swept  away  by 
a  cyclone). 

Did  I  tell  you  that  during  this  illness  I  was 
able  to  read  Sydney  Smith 's  "  Moral  Philoso- 
phy," and  with  what  sense  I  have  got  back, 
declare  it  now  to  be  the  only  moral  philoso- 
phy. It  entirely  supersedes  the  wisdom  of 
"Modern  Painters." 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  R. 

Brantwood,  13th  September,  '86. 

Darling  Charles,  —  I  like  the  notion  of 
leaving  you  out  of  my  Autobiography.  What 
would  be  the  use  of  it,  if  it  did  not  show 
under  what  friendly  discouragements  I  wrote 
my  best  works  ?  You  might  as  well  propose 
I  should  leave  out  Carlyle,  or  Joan  herself ! 

I  have  been  steadily  gaining  since  last  re- 
port, and  on  Friday  was  half  way  up  the  Old 
Man,^  without  more  fatigue  than  deepened  the 
night's  rest,  and  greatly  pleased  that,  the  day 

I  The  mountain  called  "  Coniston  Old  Man." 


2i8     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


being  exceptionally  clear,  I  saw  Ingleborough 
without  any  feeling'  of  diminished  faculty  of 
sight. 

And  the  last  illness  did  indeed  leave  les- 
sons as  to  the  danger  of  mere  active  excite- 
ment of  brain,  which  none  of  the  four  pre- 
vious ones  did.  For  all  those,  there  was  some 
reason  in  the  particular  trains  of  feeling  that 
ended  in  them ;  but  this  last  came  of  a  quite 
dispassionate  review  of  the  opinions  of  the 
Committee  of  Council  on  Education,  and 
analysis  of  the  legal  position  of  the  Vicar  of 
Coniston  under  the  will  of  Lady  le  Flem- 
ing. It  has  only  struck  me  lately  that  I  was 
meant  for  a  lawyer,  and  that  the  aesthetic 
side,  or  point,  of  me  ought  to  have  remained 
undeveloped,  like  the  eyes  which  the  Dar- 
winians are  discovering  in  the  backs,  or  be- 
hinds,  of  lizards. 

By  the  way,  nothing  in  late  reading  has 
delighted  me  more,  or  ever  did,  in  praeterite 
reading,  than  the  letters  of  aged  Humboldt 
to  youthful  Agassiz. 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  219 


...  I  had  an  interesting  encounter  with  a 
biggish  viper,  who  challenged  me  at  the  top 
of  the  harbour  steps  one  day  before  my  last 
fit  of  craze  came  on.  I  looked  him  in  the 
eyes,  or  rather  nose,  for  half  a  minute,  when 
he  drew  aside  into  a  tuft  of  grass,  on  which 
I  summoned  our  Tommy  —  a  strong  lad  of 
1 8,  who  was  mowing  just  above  —  to  come 
down  with  his  scythe.  The  moment  he  struck 
at  the  grass  tuft,  it  —  the  snake  —  became  a 
glittering  coil  more  wonderful  than  I  could 
have  conceived,  clasping  the  scythe  and  avoid- 
ing its  edge.  Not  till  the  fifth  or  sixth  blow 
could  Tommy  get  a  disabling  cut  at  it.  I 
finally  knelt  down  and  crushed  its  head  flat 
with  a  stone,  —  and  hope  it  meant  the  last 
lock  of  Medusa's  hair  for  me. 

Ever  your  lovingest 

J.R. 

Brantwood,  23rd  March,  1887. 

Tm  writing  from  15  to  25  letters  a  day 
just  now,  besides  getting  on  with  "  Praeterita," 


220     LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


"  Proserpina,"  "  Ulric  "  editing  and  "  Christ's 
Folk"  editing,  and  as  you  can't  be  much 
more  busy,  and  have  n't  been  crazy,  I  think 
you  ought  to  keep  up  our  acquaintance  with 
an  occasional  word  or  two.  .  .  . 

The  chapter  of  "  Praeterita "  I 'm  upon 
("  Hotel  du  Mont  Blanc  ")  is  lagging  sadly 
because  I  can't  describe  the  Aiguille  de  Va- 
rens  as  I  want  to.  I  do  hope  I  shan't  go  off 
my  head  this  summer  again  and  lose  the  wild 
roses,  —  for  "  Praeterita"  will  be  very  pretty 
if  I  can  only  get  it  written  as  it's  in  my 
head  while  right  way  on. 

It  is  snowing  and  freezing  bitterly,  and  I 
consider  it  all  the  fault  of  America  and  fail- 
ure of  duty  in  Gulf  Stream,  and  so  on. 

.  .  .  Seriously,  I  believe  I  am  safer  than 
for  some  years  in  general  health,  but  have 
lost  sadly  in  activity  and  appetite. 

Ever  your  loving         J.  R. 

It  was  soon  after  my  last  stay  with  him  that 
Ruskin  began  to  write  his  "  Praeterita,"  the 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  221 


record  "  of  scenes  and  thoughts,"  as  its  title 
says,  "  perhaps  worthy  of  memory  in  my  (his) 
past  life."  It  was  issued  in  monthly  numbers, 
beginning  in  April,  1885,  but  its  regular  pub- 
lication was  at  times  interrupted  by  illness,  and 
the  last  number,  the  twenty-eighth,  appeared 
in  July,  1889.  By  far  its  largest  autobiograph- 
ical part  is  occupied  with  the  account  of  Rus- 
kin's  childhood  and  youth,  ending  practically 
with  the  year  1856,  when  he  was  thirty-seven 
years  old.  It  was  the  year  of  the  beginning 
of  our  friendship.  Although  there  are  many 
passages  which  indicate  the  disturbance  of 
his  mind,  yet,  barring  these,  the  spirit  and 
style  of  the  book  are  thoroughly  delightful, 
and  truly  represent  the  finer  characteristics 
of  his  nature.  He  has  written  nothing  better, 
it  seems  to  me,  than  some  pages  of  this  book, 
whether  of  description  or  reflection.  The 
retrospect  is  seen  through  the  mellowing  at- 
mosphere of  age,  the  harshness  of  many  an 
outline  is  softened  by  distance,  and  the  old 
man  looks  back  upon  his  own  life  with  a  feel- 
ing which  permits  him  to  delineate  it  with 
perfect  candor,  with  exquisite  tenderness,  and 
a  playful  liveliness  quickened  by  his  humor- 


222     LETTERS  OF  JOHN*RUSKIN 


ous  sense  of  its  dramatic  extravagances  and 
individual  eccentricities. 

After  a  fresh  attack  of  illness  in  1889, 
Ruskin  was  never  able  to  take  up  again  the 
broken  thread  of  his  story.  The  last  ten 
years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  retirement,  and 
save  for  recurrent  attacks  of  brain  trouble, 
his  days  were  peaceful  and  not  unhappy. 
He  still  enjoyed  the  beauties  of  Nature  and 
of  Art,  still  liked  to  read  or  hear  read  his 
favorite  books,  still  loved  to  listen  to  simple 
music.  He  was  cared  for  with  entire  tender- 
ness and  devotion.  His  sun  sank  slowly,  and 
amid  clouds,  but  they  did  not  wholly  darken 
its  light. 

The  last  words  of  his  own  writing  which 
I  received  from  him  were  written  on  the 
2ist  of  November,  1896,  a  few  months  more 
than  forty  years  from  the  date  of  the  begin- 
ning of  our  friendship.  They  were  at  the 
foot  of  a  letter  of  Mrs.  Severn,  and  were 
written  in  pencil  with  a  trembling  hand, — 
"  From  your  loving  J.  R." 

"  Prasterita  "  ends  with  the  following  words, 
strangely  symbolic  of  much  of  the  life  of 
which  they  close  the  record :  "  Fonte  Branda 


LETTERS  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  223 


I  last  saw  with  Charles  Norton,  under  the 
same  arches  where  Dante  saw  it.  We  drank 
of  it  together,  and  walked  together  that  even- 
ing on  the  hills  above,  where  the  fireflies 
among  the  scented  thickets  shone  fitfully  in 
the  still  undarkened  air.  How  they  shone ! 
moving  like  fine-broken  starlight  through  the 
purple  leaves.  How  they  shone!  through 
the  sunset  that  faded  into  thunderous  night 
as  I  entered  Siena  three  days  before,  the 
white  edges  of  the  mountainous  clouds  still 
lighted  from  the  west,  and  the  openly  golden 
sky  calm  behind  the  Gate  of  Siena's  heart, 
with  its  still  golden  words,  *  Cor  magis  tibi 
Sena  pandit,'  and  the  fireflies  everywhere  in 
sky  and  cloud  rising  and  falling,  mixed  with 
the  lightning,  and  more  intense  than  the 
stars." 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Note.   R.  stands 

Abbeville  church,  i.  178,  179, 
182. 

Accounts,  R.  keeps,  ii.  46. 
Adulteration  and  competition, 

i.  245. 

Agassiz,  Miss,  drawings  by,  i. 
109. 

Agassiz,  Louis,    letters  from 

Humboldt  to,  ii.  218. 
Agnew,  Joanna  R.  See  Severn. 
Alps,  the,  R.  loses  enthusiasm  for 

(1858),  i.  67;  R.  in  (i860),  99; 

(1861),  122,  126;  (1862-1863), 

128,  133,  137,  140,  141,  144; 

(1869),  226-228,  231  ;  (1874), 

ii.  102-104,  107 ;  (1882),  166- 
168;  in  winter,  i.  122,  126;  R.'s 
lecture  on  Savoy,  140 ;  R.'s 
plan  to  regulate  water  flow, 
204,  207,  216,  236 ;  retreat  of 

'  glaciers  and  snow  line,  ii.  107? 
177,  209  ;  flowers  of,  178  ;  R.'s 
work  on,  180,  193,  202, 

Ambleside,  R.  at  (1867),  i«  166, 
168. 

America,  fresh  and  ugly,  i.  27- 
29  ;  happiness  in,  50  ;  art  in, 
52,  82 ;  R.  on,  57,  ii.  10,  47, 
51, 170,212;  tourists,i.  218;  and 
Turner's  art,  ii.  iii ;  responsi- 
ble for  modern  degeneracy, 
233.    See  also  Civil  War. 

Amiens,  cathedral  of,  i.  186 ;  R. 
on,  ii.  162, 170. 


for  John  Ruskin. 

Anderson,  Miss,  ii.  202. 
Annie,  R.'s  servant,  ii.  32. 
Antwerp,  spire  of  cathedral,  i. 
206. 

Apollo  Belvidere,  i.  27. 
Appleton,  T.  G.,  meets  R.,  i. 
178. 

Aratra  Pentelici,  meaning  of 
title,  ii.  33. 

Architecture,  Seven  Lamps,  i.  5 ; 
Stones  of  Venice,  5,  ii.  108,  137, 
gathering  material  for  Stones 
of  Venice,  i.  32-35 ;  restora- 
tions and  destructions,  63,  81, 
155,  178,  182,  206,  214,  ii. 
136,  180,  183-185;  Abbeville 
church,  i.  178,  182,  185; 
Amiens  cathedral,  186,  ii.  162, 
170 ;  developments  of  Mon- 
treux,  i.  206 ;  spire  of  Antwerp 
cathedral,  206 ;  tomb  in  Verona, 
2 II ,  2 1 2  n. ;  balcony  at  Lugano, 
220 ;  balustrade  at  Baveno, 
220 :  Roman  Doric  capitals, 
223;  Parthenon,  ii.  114,  West- 
minster, 114 ;  HypcBthral  Ques- 
tion, 158  :  Chartres,  162  ;  Nor- 
ton's Church-Building,  163 ; 
symmetry  of  mediaeval  build- 
ings, 179,  181 ;  anomalies 
of  Pisa  cathedral,  179,  186, 
208 ;  measurement  of  medi- 
aeval buildings,  181,  185;  con- 
struction of  Fesole  wall,  187,  % 


228 


INDEX 


1 88;    Canterbury  cathedral, 

206.  See  also  Art. 
Argyll,  Duke  of,  at  Metaphysical 

Society  dinner,  ii.  30. 
Ariadne  Florentina,  ii.  92,  113. 
Aristophanes,  R.  on,  i.  76. 
Amolfo  di  Cambio,  school  of,  ii. 

92. 

Art,  R.'s  early  works,  i.  4; 
Turner,  24,  59-61,  168;  at 
Rome,  26 ;  at  Verona,  39 ; 
American,  52,  82;  Plassan's 
Music  Lesson, (iT^^ddfXi.;  Lewis's 
Inmate  of  Harem,  63,  64;  R.'s 
change  in  convictions,  71,  92, 
97;  Veronese's  Solomon,  72; 
Venetian  school,  73;  Modern 
Painters,  79,  81,  87,  91,  92,  ii. 
108,  191,  206, 213,  214 ;  present 
and  future  condition,  i.  81, 1 55, 
ii.  90,  178,  181  ;  modern  Ger- 
man, i.  81  ;  English,  82,  ii.  154, 
161  ;  Rossetti,  i.  90,  97,  loi, 
124;  Hunt,  102,  ii.  23;  St. 
Louis  missal,  i.  104;  Titian's 
power,  106;  Church's  Coto- 
paxi,  151 ;  Turner's  Liber  Stu- 
diorum,  165-168,  ii.  151;  sub- 
ject painful  to  R.,  i.  166 ;  diges- 
tion of  nature,  168;  didactic, 
200;  griffins  at  Verona,  214; 
Luini's  Crucifixion,  221,  222  ; 
lectures  at  Oxford,  255-259, 
ii.  20,  22,  28,  30,  46,  49,  53,  92, 
93,  122,  191  ;  Tintoret's  supre- 
macy, i.  261,  ii.  39;  Lippi, 
193;  Strozzi  Titian,  9;  Man- 
tegna,  10,  11 ;  Botticelli,  11,  53, 
75.  76,  93.  97;   the  Pisani, 

i.  269;    school   at  Oxford, 

ii.  31-34,  45;  at  Dresden, 
42 ;    Aratra    Pentelici,    43 ; 


plates  for  sculpture  lectures, 
45  ;  and  science,  46  ;  Trimnph 
of  Maximilian,  50;  Perugino, 
53  :  Val  d'Arno,  53,  70, 88,  89; 
Duccio,  54;  Cimabue,  54,  76, 
77,  79,  80,  84,  96-98 ;  and  re- 
ligion, 54,  55,  125;  frescoes  at 
Assisi,  74-80,  84,  96-98;  "im- 
proving "  a  copy,  74  ;  Giotto, 
75,  79,  84,  91,  loi,  106;  gram- 
mar, 82  ;  frescoes  at  Florence, 
85,  86,  94,  98,  loi,  102  ;  Morn- 
ings in  Florence,  98-100,  126; 
Etruscan,  89-92,  100,  loi; 
Niccolo  Pisano,  90 ;  Ariadne 
Florentina,  ()2,  113  ;  successive 
Italian  schools,  92,  93,  104; 
contemplative  and  dramatic, 
94, 106  ;  bas-reliefs  on  Giotto's 
Tower,  106  ;  fifteenth  century 
English,  no;  America  and 
Turner,  in  ;  Carpaccio,  140, 
142;  guide  to  Venice,  143; 
R.  hopeful  of  preserving  know- 
ledge of  Gothic,  163;  Leigh- 
ton,  193  ;  Leonardo,  198.  See 
also  Architecture,  Drawing. 

Art  objects,  Norton  obtains  for 
ii-  33.  34,  57.  60. 

Ashbourne,  England,  Cockayne 
tombs,  ii.  no. 

Assisi,  R.'s  monograph  on,ii.  69; 
frescoes  in  San  Francesco, 
74-77,  79.  80,  84,  86-88. 

Atlantic  Monthly,  R.  praises,  i. 
57 ;  R.  declines  to  write  for, 
61,  87. 

Avallon,  R.  at,  ii.  174. 

Baveno,  balustrade,  i.  220. 
Beckenried,  R.  at  (1869),  i.  227. 
Bellinzona,  R.  at  (1870),  ii.  9. 


INDEX 


229 


Bellini,  art  of,  ii.  93. 
Bible  of  Amiens ^  ii.  162,  167. 
Bird  of  Calm,  lecture,  ii.  46. 
Birmingham,  R.  would  bombard, 

ii.  184. 
Black  Plague,  ii.  56. 
Blanc,  Mont,  change  in,  ii.  107, 

177,  209. 
Blumenthal,  Carlo,  i.  236. 
Boat,  R.  builds,  ii.  156. 
Boehm,  Sir  J.  E.,  statue  of  Car- 

lyle,  ii.  117;  bust  of  R.,  118; 

commission    for  medallions, 

202. 

Bond,  E.  A.,  i.  203. 

Boni,  Signor,  cathedral  measure- 
ments, ii.  185,  188,  194,  208. 

Books,  R.  on  type  and  binding 
of,  i.  243. 

Borromeo,  Count,  i.  242. 

Botany,  name  Lamiuniy  i.  140; 
R.'s  interest  in,  159,  161 ;  Pro- 
serpina, 254,  256,  ii.  113,  119, 
151,  152,  220;  Alpine  flowers, 
178;  R.'s  work  on  weeds,  197. 

Botticelli,  Sandro,  hardness  and 
gloom,  ii.  II;  work  in  Sistine 
Chapel,  53,  75;  R.'s  lectures 
on,  66,  67,  76,  80 ;  art  of,  76, 
93>  97. 

Boulogne,  R.  at  (1861),  i.  115, 
119. 

Boutmy,  fimile,  Philosophy  of 
Greek  Architecture,  ii.  26. 

Brantwood,  R.  purchases,  ii.  37  ; 
a  purposed  home,  38 ;  R.'s 
expectations  of  life  at,  41, 
51,  59;  R.  on  beauty  of,  70; 
view  from,  132,  164;  life  at, 
166. 

Brientz,  Lake,  R,  at  (1869),  i- 
228. 


Bright,  John,  on  adulteration,  i. 
245- 

British  Museum,  proposed  dis- 
tribution of  its  treasures,  ii. 
197. 

Broadlands,  R.  at,  ii.  36,  121, 
122. 

Brown,  John,  raid,  i.  91, 

Brown,  Rawdon,  at  Venice,  i. 
39,  42,  ii.  73. 

Browning,  Elizabeth  B.,  Aurora 
Leigh,  i,  31 ;  curse  on  Amer- 
ica, 130. 

Browning,  Robert,  and  R.,  i. 
84. 

Brunellesco,  Filippo,  school  of, 
ii.  92. 

Buonaventura,  St.,  Life  of  St. 
Francis  by,  ii.  95. 

Biirglen,  beautiful,  i.  67. 

Burmann,  Pieter,  edition  of  Vir- 
gil, ii.  18. 

Burne-Jones,  Edward,  at  Work- 
ingmen's  College,  i.  41 ;  art, 
102  ;  marriage,  112;  threatened 
ill-health,  125,  126;  portrait  of 

153,  154,  156,  159.  160, 

162. 

Burne-Jones,  Mrs.  Edward,  and 

the  ballet,  i.  112. 
Byron,  Lord,  R.  on,  i.  215. 

Callimachus,  R.  reads,  ii.  68. 

Canterbury,  R.  on,  ii.  205. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  ziitx  Frederick, 
i.  1 50 ;  Frederick  done  at  right 
time,  ii.  24;  R.'s  analysis  of 
Frederick,  66 ;  Boehm's  statue, 
117;  his  work,  167,  168;  let- 
ters, 174,  189,  209;  Froude's 
biography,  176,  190,  216; 
whine  of,  190,  204. 


230 


INDEX 


Carpaccio,  Vittore,  St.  Ursula, 

ii.  140,  142. 
Cavalli  di  mare,  i.  35. 
Cent  Ballades,  Les,  i.  242 ;  R. 

translates,  254,  259,  ii.  67. 
Cervantes,  R.  on,  ii.  10,  16. 
Chartres,  R.  on,  ii.  162. 
Chase,  Mr.,  ii.  212. 
Chaucer,  R.  translates,  i.  254, 

259- 

Cheapness,  R.  on,  i.  243. 
Chemistry,  R.'s  interest  in,  i. 
152. 

Chesneau,  Ernest,  life  of  Turner, 
ii.  201. 

Chess-player,  automaton,  ii.  71, 
72. 

Children,  spiritual  training  of,  i. 

251-253- 
Chimes,  R.  presents,  to  Conis- 

ton  school,  ii.  202. 
Chivalry,  R.  on,  ii.  16,  71 ;  and 

art,  93. 

Church,  F.  E.,  his  Cotopaxi,  i.  1 51 . 
Cimabue,  Giovanni,  R.  on,  ii. 

54;  frescoes,  76,  77,  79,80,  84, 

96-98. 

Civil  War,  R.'s  attitude  toward, 

i.  120,  121,  130,  133-136,  145, 
146,  151,  153,  158. 

Clarke,  J.  T.,  Hypcethral  Ques- 
tion, ii.  158. 

Clouds,  R.'s  desire  to  draw,  i. 
76;  R.'s  work  on,  ii.  201. 

Cockayne  tombs,  ii.  no. 

Coeli  Enarrant,  in  preparation, 

ii.  201. 

Coleridge,  S.  T.,  lectures  on 
Shakespeare,  i.  20 ;  on  types  of 
readers,  20  n. 

Collingwood,  G.,  on  R.'s  health, 
ii.  173. 


Collingwood,  W.  G.,  on  Pisa 
cathedral,ii.  180 ;  as  R.'s  assist- 
ant, 184,  186,  189,  195. 

Colours  and  their  proper  dark- 
ness, ii.  82. 

Como,  granite  colonnade,  i.  223. 

Conchology,  R.'s  interest,  i.  152. 

Cornhill  Magazine,  R.'s  eco- 
nomic papers,  i.  95,  103. 

Correggio,  A.  A.  da,  paintings 
at  Dresden,  i.  81. 

Crofton,  Sir  W.,  on  Employ- 
ment Committee,  i.  189,  192. 

Crookes,  Sir  William,  on  motive 
power  of  light,  ii.  131. 

Crown  of  Wild  Olive ^  i.  149. 

Dallas,  E.  S.,  i.  10. 

Dante,  Rossetti's  picture,  i.  96; 
Norton's  Vita  Nuova,  97,  170 ; 
portraits,  149 ;  Longfellow's 
translation,  169;  R.'s  attitude 
toward,  170 ;  and  Horace  on 
death  of  Ulysses,  210;  edition 
of  1490,  ii.  46  ;  Lowell  on, 
120. 

Darwin,  Charles,    i.  176;  R. 

meets,  195. 
Denmark  Hill,  R.'s  home,  i.  10, 

150,  152;  life  at,  ii.  68. 
Dickens,  Charles,  death  of,  ii.  4 ; 

R.  on  his  political  sentiments, 

5 ;  genius,  9. 
Drawing,  R.  arranges  Turner's 

sketches,  i.  30,  37,  52,  58-61 ; 

R.'s  school,  37,  40;  Elements 

of  Drawing,  38,  41 ;  R.  on  his 

own,  76,  82,  105,  no,  122,  126, 

160,  182,  207,  260,  ii.  3,  12, 
13,  18,  25,  57,  58,  112,  126,  158, 

161,  174,  176,  178,  211;  with 
brush,  i.  259 ;  Turners  on  sale. 


INDEX 


231 


201 ;  R.  founds  mastership  of, 
at  Oxford,  ii.  33,  34,  36 ;  R-'s 
new  work  on,  40,  65,  69 ;  R.'s 
Fall  of  Schaffhausen,  75 ;  Laws 
of  Fesole,  128,  145,  150-152; 
exhibition  of  R.'s,  153,  154; 
Rooke's,  206.  See  also  Art. 

Dresden,  Correggios  at,  i.  81 ;  a 
Tintoret  at,  ii.  39 ;  R.  on,  42  ; 
art  at,  42. 

Drought  in  England  (1870),  ii. 
13- 

Duccio  di  Buoninsegna,  R.  on, 
ii.  54. 

Dutch  art,  R.  on,  ii.  94. 

Eaglets  Nesty  lectures  men- 
tioned, ii.  46. 

Economics,  beginning  of  R.'s 
interest  in,  i.  23,  44 ;  R.'s  prin- 
ciples, 93,  128  n.,  136;  Unto 
this  Last,  95,  103;  opposition 
to  R.'s  views,  95, 103  n.;  Mune- 
ra  Pulveris, 12^  n.,  136,  248,  ii. 
45;  Employment  Committee 
(1868),  i.  187-193 ;  R.'s  interest 
in  the  unemployed,  188 ;  R.'s 
resolution  on  employment, 
190 ;  expenditure  and  future 
wealth,  223,  224 ;  R.'s  antag- 
onism to  school  of  Mill,  224, 
228,  230,  232,  233,  240,  241, 
245-247  ;  R.  resents  criticism, 
239 ;  importance  of  definitions, 
244 ;  adulteration  and  compe- 
tition, 245 ;  justice  rather  than 
laissez  faire,  247 ;  and  govern- 
ment, 248 ;  R.'s  claim  for  his 
theories,  248;  wealth,  248,  249 ; 
R.'s  axiom  and  Mill's,  249  j 
influence  of  Dickens,  ii.  5. 
See  also  Social  conditions. 


Emancipation  Proclamation,  R. 

on,  i.  135. 
Emerson,  R.  W.,  J.  J.  Ruskin 

on,  i.  21;  Compensation,  160; 

letters   to  Carlyle,    ii.  174, 

175- 

Employment  Committee  (1868), 

i.  187-193. 

England,  and  Italian  war,  i.  80 ; 
art,  82 ;  fifteenth  century  art, 

ii.  no. 

Ethics  of  the  Dust,  i.  149. 
Etruscan  art,  ii.  89-92, 100,  lOi ; 
racial  survival,  89. 

Faido,  R.  at  (1869),  i.  224. 

Fesole,  Badia  of,  ii.  95 ;  construc- 
tion of  wall,  187,  188;  and 
Volterra,  194. 

Field,  J.  W.,  and  R.,  ii.  135. 

Fielding,  A.  V.  C,  i.  11. 

Financial  distress  of  1867,  i.  165. 

Florence,  school  of  art,  ii.  53; 
frescoes  in  Spanish  Chapel, 
85,  94,  98,  loi,  102 ;  Fioretti 
exemplified,  96 ;  Giotto's  fres- 
coes, 98,  10 1 ;  symmetry  of 
Baptistery,  181. 

Flowers,  Alpine,  ii.  178.  See  also 
Botany. 

Fors  Clavigera,  going  on  well, 

11.  39,  41 ;  mentioned,  42,  71, 
87,  104,  105,111,113,  120, 121, 
133  ;  autobiographical,  65 ;  sus- 
pended, 65 ;  Norton's  opinion 
of,  66, 68,  72,  88,  95 ;  renewed, 
203. 

Francis  of  Assisi,  Saint,  bio- 
graphy, ii.  96 ;  modern  exem- 
plification of  Fioretti,  96. 

Franco-German  War,  R.  on,  ii. 

12,  24. 


232 


INDEX 


Eraser's  Magazine,  R.'s  economic 

essays,  i.  128. 
Frederick  the  Great,  Carlyle's 

life  of,  i.  1 50,  ii.  24,  66 ;  Norton 

on,  44 ;  R.  on,  47,  48. 
Frescoes  at  Assisi,  ii.  74-85,  96- 

98  ;  at  Florence,  85,  86, 94,  98, 

loi,  102;  R.  gives  up  copying, 

III. 

Froissart,  R.  on,  i.  61. 

Froude,  J.  A.,  R.  on  his  history, 
ii.  120;  Carlyle,  176,  190,  216. 

Fuller,  Mr.,  on  Employment 
Committee,  i.  192. 

Furnivall,  F.  J.,  and  Working- 
men's  College,  i.  40. 

Geneva,  R.  at  (1856),  i.  6,  7 ; 
to  brick-over  the  Rhone,  ii. 
178. 

Geology,  R.'s  interest  in,  i.  no, 
145, 1 52, 180,  ii.  209 ;  lecture  on 
Savoy  mountains,  i.  140 ;  gla- 
ciers, ii.  104,  189;  R.'s  work 
on,  117,  119. 

Giesbach,  R.  at  (1869),  i-  228; 
(1870),  ii.  II. 

Giotto,  frescoes  at  Assisi,  ii.  75, 
79,  84;  frescoes  at  Florence, 
98,  loi ;  bas-reliefs  on  Tower, 
106. 

Glaciers,  R.'s  work  on,  ii.  104, 
189. 

Gneiss,  R.'s  drawing  of  block  of, 
i.  62,  68. 

Gondolas,  genuine,  i.  32. 

Grammar  of  art,  ii.  82. 

Greek  culture,  language,  i.  119, 
123;  mythology,  146,  152,  155; 
Queen  of  the  Air,  200,  205, 
213  n.,  ii.  20  ;  R.'s  lectures  on 
coins,  20,  25 ;  R.'s  interest  in 


and  understanding  of,  20-23, 
25-28,  73 ;  lighting  of  temples, 
158. 

Greenaway,  Kate,  and  R.,  ii. 

194,  202. 
Griffith,  Mr.,  ii.  14. 
Gull,  Sir  William,  ii.  175. 
Gunpowder,  R.  on,  i.  77. 
Gurney,  E.  W.,  on  R.  in  1876,  ii. 

134. 

Happiness,  an  inward  condition, 

i.  142. 

Harrison,  Frederic,  on  R.'s  mid- 
life, i.  93 ;  on  fortune  left  R. 
by  his  father,  167. 

Harrison,  W.  H.,  and  R.,  i.  18, 
202  ;  on  Coleridge's  lectures, 
20. 

Heraldry  drawings,  ii.  45. 
Heme  Hill,  R.'s  first  home,  ii. 
69. 

Hill,  Mr.,  on  Employment  Com- 
mittee, i.  191. 
Hilliard,  L.  I.,  on  R.'s  health, 

ii.  171,  172  ;  and  R.,  172  n. 
Holmes,  O.  W.,  R.  on,  i.  126; 

his  4th  of  July  speech,  144;  in 

England  (1886),  ii.  215. 
Homer,  use  of  Kviffffrjev,  ii.  15, 

21,  22  ;  Hymns,  23. 
Horace,  R.  on,  i.  123  ;  and  Dante 

on  death  of  Ulysses,  210; 

chance  verse  of,  guides  R.,  ii. 

155- 

Hughes,  Thomas,  at  Working- 
men's  College,  i-  40  ;  his  pre- 
face to  Biglow  Papers,  88. 

Humboldt,  Alexander  von,  his 
letters  to  Agassiz,  ii.  218. 

Hunt,  Alfred,  ii.  66. 

Hunt,  William,  and  R.,  i.  102 ; 


INDEX 


233 


picture  of  a  Greek  sunset, 
ii.  22. 

Huxley,  T.  H.,  paper  on  a  frog's 

soul,  ii.  29. 
Hypcethral  Question^  ii.  158. 

Illumination,  St.  Louis  missal, 
i.  104  ;  Hotirs  of  St.  Louis ^  186. 

Immortality,  R.  on,  i.  163,  168, 
170,  250-252. 

Insanity,  limits  of,  ii.  13 ;  and 
genius,  216. 

Irrigation,  Italian,  i.  235. 

Ischia,  earthquake,  ii.  200. 

Italy,  Austrian  war,  i.  80,  81,  85  ; 
character  of  modern  inhabit- 
ants, 156,  205,  214,  ii.  103; 
social  destruction  of  law,  i.  225 ; 
plan  to  control  drainage  of 
northern,  216,  236. 

Jacopone,  Fra,  ii.  96. 

Jarves,  J.  J.,  i-  3- 

Jowett,  Benjamin,  his  translation 

of  Plato,  ii.  139,  159. 
jfoy  Forever^  A,  i.  45. 

Kensington  school,  R.'s  opposi- 
tion to,  ii.  33. 

Keston,  Norton  at,  i.  176,  195. 

King's  Arms  Inn,  Lancaster,  ii. 
55- 

Kingsley,  Mr.,  on  Turner,  ii.  14. 
Kingsley,  Charles,  and  Work- 
ingmen's  College,  i.  40. 

La  Touche,  Miss  Rose,  and  R., 
i.  93,  107,  III,  116, 138;  R. and 
her  death,  ii.  116, 120,  129,  132, 
169. 

Laws  of  FisoUy  ii.  128,  145,  150- 
152. 


Leighton,  Frederick,  art,  ii.  193. 
Lewis,  J.  F.,  i.  II  ;  Inmate  of 

the  Harem,  63,  64. 
Liber  Studiorum^  i.  1 65- 168,  ii. 

151- 

Liberty,  R.  on,  i.  214,  219,  247, 
ii.  90,  100. 

Liddell,  H.  G.,  reference  to  Ho- 
meric Hymns,  ii.  23. 

Light,  and  shade,  ii.  82,  motive 
power  of,  131. 

Linnaeus,  Carolus,  on  "econ- 
omy," i,  246,  247. 

Lippi,  Filippo,  art,  ii.  8,  193. 

Literature,  Lowell's  poetry,  i.  7, 
59,  68,  74,  77,  88,  121  ;  Cole- 
ridge's lectures,  20 ;  Mrs. 
'^xov^xim^ s  Aurora  Leigh,  31  ; 
Froissart,  61 ;  Aristophanes, 
76;  Mimoires  de  Joinville, 
104  n ;  Socrates,  117;  Holmes's 
poetry,  126;  Horace,  140,  210, 
ii.  145  ;  Swinburne's  Atalanta, 
157 ;  Emerson's  Compensation^ 
160;  Longfellow's  Dante,  169; 
Dante,  170,  210;  R.'s  early 
verses,  197-199;  Byron,  215; 
Omar,  217  ;  Sainte-Beuve,  239, 
ii.  12,  15;  Old  French,  i.  242, 
254,  ii,  67  ;  R.'s  series  of  stand- 
ard, i.  264,  269;  Chaucer,  264, 
269  ;  Dickens,  ii.  9,  Cervantes, 
10,  16;  Virgil,  15,  18-20; 
Homer,  15,  21-23;  Lucretius, 
25;  Callimachus,  68;  Memo- 
rabilia, 130 ;  Froude's  history, 
120, 

London,  R.'s  bitter  memory,  ii.  50, 
Longfellow,  H.  W.,  references 
to,i,  151, 187, 188, 206;  meeting 
in  Paris,  178  ;  in  Verona,  206; 
translation  of  Dante,  169,  ii.  18. 


234 


INDEX 


Lovers  Meinie,  ii.  170. 

Lowell,  J.  R.,  R.  on,  i.  7,  59,  68, 
74, 77,  121,  ii.  100  ;  letter  from 
R.  (1859)  on  writing  and 
Lowell's  poetry,  i.  86;  R.'s 
friendship,  84,  89;  Hughes's 
preface  to  Biglow  Papers ^  88 ; 
Dante y  ii.  130. 

Lucca,  R.  at  (1874),  ii.  82; 
(1882),  179,  182;  Etruscan  art 
and  Pisano's  art,  89-91,  100 ; 
Etruscan  type,  89  ;  drive,  91. 

Lucretius,  R.  dislikes,  ii.  25. 

Lugano,  hotel  balcony,  i.  220  ; 
Luini's  Crucifixion,  221,  222, 
242 ;  defilement  of  lake  shore, 
222. 

Luini,  Bernadino,  Crucifixion,  i. 
221,  222,  242 ;  art,  ii.  93,  198. 

Manchester  Fine  Arts  Exhibi- 
tion (1857),  R.'s  lectures,  i.  44. 

Manning,  Archbishop,  on  Em- 
ployment Committee,  i.  191. 

Mantegna,  Andrea,  art,  ii.  10, 
II. 

Marmontel,  J.  F.,  Tales,  i.  6 ; 
Memoirs,  256. 

Maurice,  F.  0.,  and  Working- 
men's  College,  i.  40. 

Memmi,  Simon,  frescoes,  ii.  85, 
86,  94,  98. 

Mimoires  de  Jean  Sire  de  Join- 
ville,  i.  104  n. 

Memorabilia,  ii.  130. 

Metaphysical  Society,  dinner,  ii. 
29. 

Meurice's,  dinner  at,  i.  170. 
Michael  Angelo,  Moses,  Last 

Judgment,  i.  27. 
Milan,  art  at,  ii.  198. 
Mill,  J.  S.,  R.'s  antagonism  to 


economic  theories  of,  i.  224, 

228,  230,  232,  233,  240,  241, 

245-247. 
Mineralogy,  R.'s  interest  in,  i. 

76,  150,  159,  255,  ii.  46,  201. 
Modern  Painters,  fourth  volume, 

i.  79 ;  last  volume,  81,  87,  91, 
92  ;  revision,  ii.  108;  new  edi- 
tion, 191,  206;  R.  on  (1886), 
213,  214. 

Montreux,  i.  206. 

Moore,  C.  H.,  and  R.,  ii.  135, 

170;  with  R.  in  Venice,  140, 

141,  144. 
Morgarten,  traditions,  i.  66. 
Mornex,  R.  at,  i.  128-142. 
Mornings  in  Florence,  planned, 

ii.  98-100  ;  proof,  126. 
Morris,  William,  and  Working- 
men's  College,  i.  41. 

Mount-Temple,  Lady,  ii.  36, 121. 
Munera  Pulveris,  i.  128  n.,  136, 

248,  ii.  45. 
Munroe,  Alexander,  sculptor,  i. 

102. 

Music,  R.  takes  lessons,  i.  256  ; 
choral,  ii.  86. 

Natural  science,  R.  on,  i.  117, 
155,  ii.  210. 

Nature,  ugliness  of  America,  i. 
27-29 ;  defacement  of,  155, 
222,  227,  ii.  178, 183-185 ;  evil, 
33,  56,  115,  133,  184,  200,  220; 
R.  loses  faith  in,  1 13.  See  also 
Alps. 

Neuchatel,  R.  at  (i860),  i.  97  ; 

modern  church  at  castle,  206. 
Niagara,  R.  on  destruction  of, 

ii.  183-185. 
Norton,  C.  E.,  first  meeting  with 

R.,  i.  3,  4 ;  second  meeting,  5 ; 


INDEX 


235 


R.'s  friendship,  7-9,  22,  24,  31, 
83,99»  136,  154,  158,  186,  211, 
225,  229,  240,  ii.  44,  53,  66, 
114,  124,  146,  151,  213,  217; 
J.  j.  Ruskin  invites,  to  dinner, 
i.  10 ;  acquires  water-color  by 
Turner,  24,  31 ;  R.'s  birthday 
greeting  (1857),  55;  and  J.  J. 
Ruskin,  65;    R.'s  promised 
portrait,  80,  89,  96,  97,  124, 
126,  153,  154,  156,  159-162  i 
feeling  and  knowledge  of  art, 
81  ;  drawings  by  Rossetti,  90, 
96,  124  ;  Vita  Nuova,  97,  170 ; 
R.  on  birth  of  his  child,  142, 
143  ;  Portraits  of  Dante,  149  ; 
R.'s  desire  to  see  (1867),  171, 
179;  (1875)'  ii-  124;  (1886), 
215  ;  in  England  (1868),  i.  175, 
176;  his  children  and  R.,  176, 
180, 187,  ii.  159;  at  Abbeville, 
i.  178,  186;  R.  cannot  enter- 
tain, 179 ;  criticism  of  R.'s 
work,  200,  201,  204,  ii.  42,  108, 
137,  138,  213,  214,  217;  R. 
places  matters  in  charge  of,  i. 
202,  203,  205 ;  practical  coun- 
sel to  R.,  205,  210-213,  238; 
incapable    of  understanding 
R.'s  state  of  mind,  209-211; 
foundation  of  America,  223; 
responsible  for  social  degen- 
eracy, 223,  228,  245 ;  and  R.'s 
economic  theories  and  soci- 
ology, 225,  229,  232,  239-241, 
244,ii.  68,  78,81,  83,  119,128; 
and  R.  at  Siena  (1870),!  ii.  3, 
6,  223;  on  Virgil,  19  n.;  know- 
ledge of  mediaeval  culture,  28  ; 
obtains  art  objects  for  R.,  33, 
34,  47 ;  sends   R.  a  Greek 
Fortune,  34,  35,  43;  acquires 


Tintorets,  35;  on  Frederick 
the  Great,  44 ;  not  an  Ameri- 
can, 51,  72 ;  article  on  Siena 
cathedral,  54,  55;  and  Fors 
Clavigera,  66,  68,  72,  88,  95  ; 
R.'s  resistance  of  his  advice, 
68;  R.'s  drawing  of  himself 
for,  72-74 ;  R.  proposes  joint 
expatriation  and  travel,  72, 
124;  longing  for  Europe, 
(1875),  114;  R.  acknowledges 
American  blood  in,  129;  re- 
publicanism, 141 ;  exhibition 
of  R.'s  drawings,  153, 154;  R. 
on  his  bereavement,  157  ; 
Church-Building,  163;  Vene- 
tian head  for  R.,  164 ;  in  Eng- 
land {1883,  1884),  165;  and 
Bible  of  Amiens,  167;  Carlyle- 
Emerson  Letters,  174,  175  ;  on 
Froude's  Carlyle,  175,  216; 
R.'s  welcome  (1883),  195, 
196;  (1884),  203;  R.  cannot 
meet,  on  Continent  (1883), 
197  ;  on  victory  of  material- 
ism, 208;  R.  asks  return  of 
drawings,  211;  on  Frceierita, 
217,220-222;  R.'s  last  words 
to,  222. 

Norton,  Mrs.  C.  E.,  R.'s  letters 
to  (1868),  i.  189-194. 

Oats,  harvest,  compared  with 

vintage,  i.  53. 
Old  French,  R.  reads,  i.  242, 

254,  ii.  67. 
Omar  Khayyam,  R.  on.  i.  217. 
Owen,  Sir  Richard,  his  definition 

of  man,  i.  1 56. 
Oxford,  R.'s  professorship  at,  i. 

227  ;  R.'s  lectures,  first  course, 

255-259 ;  second  course,  ii.  20, 


236 


INDEX 


22,  28,  30;  (1872),  49,  53; 
(1874),  92,  93;  (1875),  122; 

(1883),  191 ;  (1884),  205;  R.'s 
life  at,  31, 49,  50;  his  art  school, 
31-34,  45  ;  R.  founds  master- 
ship of  drawing,  33,  34,  36; 
R.  resigns,  148 ;  R.  reelected, 
165. 

Painting,   See  Art. 

Paris,  visit  to,  in  1868,  i.  178;  in 

July,  1870,  ii.  12. 
Parthenon,  R.  sick  of,  ii.  114. 
Paul,  Jean,  i.  142. 
Penguins,  R.  finds  comfort  in,  i. 

ICQ. 

Perugino,  work  in  Sistine  Chap- 
el, ii.  53 ;  school  of,  93. 

Philosophy,  R.  on  modern,  ii. 
131  ;  Sydney  Smith's,  217. 

Pig  rhyme,  ii.  243-245. 

Pisa,  R.  at  (1874),  ii.  72  ;  anoma- 
lies of  cathedral  architecture, 
179,  186,  208. 

Pisano,  Niccolo,  art  of,  ii.  90. 

Pistoia,  Etruscan  art,  ii.  89,  loi. 

Plassan,  A.  E.,  Music  Lesson,  i. 
63,  64  n. 

Plato,  R.'s  translation  of  the 
Laws  of,  ii.  139,  159. 

Pleasures  of  England,  ii.  205. 

Poetry.  See  Literature. 

Political  Economy  of  Art,  i.  44. 

Pollajuolo,  Antonio,  art  of,  ii. 
106. 

Poor,  to  be  petted,  i.  74.  See  also 

Social  conditions. 
Posting,  ii.  132. 

Prceterita,  purpose  and  plan,  ii, 
210,  211;  progress,  213,  220; 
character,  220-222  ;  symbolic 
end,  222. 


Pre-Raphaelite  Brethren,  and 
R.,  i.  83 ;  interested  in  Morte 
(T Arthur,  83. 

Proserpina,  i.  254,  256,  ii.  113, 
119,  151,  152,  220. 

Purism,  R.  on,  i.  106. 

Queen  of  the  Air,  planned,  i.  200 ; 
publication,  205,  213  n.;  mis- 
take in,  ii.  20. 

Raphael  Sanzio,  his  Transfigu- 
ration, i.  27. 

Ravenna,  R.'s  ignorance  of,  ii. 
104. 

Readers,  Coleridge's  classifica- 
tion, i.  20  n. 

Religion,  R.'s  change  in  convic- 
tions, i.  49,  69-72,  92,97,106, 
III,  118;  R.  on  God  and  im- 
mortality, 162,  168,  170,  250- 
252,  ii.  13;  and  art,  54,  55, 125; 
modern  instance  of  Stigmata, 
124;  faith  and  modern  phi- 
losophy, 131 ;  R.  and  his  old 
faith,  131,  133;  R.'s  views 
(1876),  143;  (1881),  169. 

Republicanism,  R.  on  modem, 
ii.  126. 

Restorations,  R.  on,  i.  63,  81, 
178,  182,  214,  ii.  180. 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  R.'s  lec- 
tures on,  ii.  122. 

Rhone  valley,  R.'s  plan  to  re- 
deem, i.  204,  207,  208,  216. 

Richmond,  George,  ii.  202. 

Rigi  railroad,  R.  on,  i.  227. 

Rivers,  English,  i.  53,  54. 

Rogers'  Italy,  R.  sends  Norton 
a  copy,  i.  24. 

Roman  de  la  Rose,  R.'s  copy,  ii. 
17- 


INDEX 


237 


Rome,  R.  on,  i.  25-28;  R.  at 
(1874),  ii.  7611. 

Rooke,T.M.,  drawing  by,  ii.  206. 

Rossetti,  D.  G.,  and  Working- 
men's  College,  i.  41 ;  portrait 
of  R.,  80,  89,  96,  97,  124,  126, 
153;  drawing  for  Norton,  90, 
124 ;  water-color  of  Dante  and 
Beatrice,  96;  art,  97,  loi,  124; 
marriage,  112. 

Royal  Academy,  R.'s  notes  on,  i. 

30- 

Ruskin,  John,  life  :  eagerness  to 
give  pleasure,  i.  4,  15,  23,  175, 
176,    196;    appearance  and 
manner  (1855),  5,  16 ;  (1868), 
175-178;  (1876),  ii.  134;  (1883), 
165 ;  exalts  merits  of  friends, 
i.  6;  magnifies  present  inter- 
ests, 6,  177;  Denmark  Hill 
home,  10,  II,  ii.  68;  and  his 
parents,  i.  12-14,  43,  94,  106, 
125, 147,  148,  163,  176,  184,  ii. 
26, 48, 160;  training  and  course 
of  life,  i.  12-14,  108,  183-185, 
211,  241,  ii.  17,  39,  48  ;  charac- 
ter, i.  14-17,  49;  friendless, 
15,  79,  83;  lack  of  knowledge 
of  men  or  affairs,  16 ;  incon- 
sistency, 16;  generosity  and 
self-indulgence,  16;  cheerful 
rather  than  happy,  17;  and 
W.  H.  Harrison,  18,202;  un- 
reserve, 21  ;  sweetness  of  na- 
ture, 22;  distinguishing  charac- 
teristics, 22 ;  health  (1857),  37  ; 
(1858),  65;  (i860),  100,  105; 
(1861),  110-112,  115;  {1862), 
128-132;  (1863),  139;  (1866), 
159-161  ;    (1867),  164,   165  ; 
(i87o),258,ii.  3o;(i87i),37,f38, 
46;  (1872),  47;  (1873).  58,67, 


69;  (1875),  109,  112,  117,  119, 
123;  (1877).  144,  145;  (1878), 
146-150,152;  (1881),  164, 167- 
169,  171,172;  (1882),  173,  175; 
(1883),  189, 191,  192  ;  (1885), 
207,  208;  (1886),  215-218; 
(1887)  220;  movements  (1857), 
i.  37  ;  unspoiled,  44  ;  nervous 
energy  and  overwork,  49,  65, 
202,  ii.  63,  64,  126,  147;  fears 
to  become  Dryasdust,  i.  66 ; 
tiresome  interruptions,  66 ;  in 
Alps,  (1858),  66-68;  (i860), 
99;  (1861),  122,126;  (1862-3), 
128,  133,  137,  140,  141,  144; 
(1869),  226-228,  231;  (1874),  ii. 
102-104,  107;  (1882),  176-178; 
in  Turin  (1858),  i.  67 ;  multi- 
farious wants,  75-78  ;  depres- 
sion, (1859),  79;  (i860),  106; 
(1861),  110-112;  (1862),  128- 
132;  (1872),  ii.  47;  (1885), 
207-209;  (1886),  214;  last 
trip  to  Continent  with''parents, 

i.  79;  friendship  for  Lowell, 84, 
89;  mid-life,  93;  and  Rose  La 
Touche,  93,  107,  III,  116,  138, 

ii.  116,  120,  129,  132;  and 
Stillman,  i.  98-101,  112;  col- 
lapse (i860),  100;  solitary 
life,  102,  123;  without  enthu- 
siasm in  his  work,  105,  107, 
227,  229,  ii.  70,  143;  seeks 
rest  (1861),  i.  105,  113,  115, 
117,  119;  (1862),  123-125; 
things  which  had  influenced 
him,  108  ;  and  visit  to  Amer- 
ica, 114,  116,  127  ;  going  to 
cultivate  himself,  122;  inten- 
tion to  live  abroad,  127  ;  be- 
comes a  Pagan,  132 ;  sympa- 
thy, 147;  inheritance,  147, 148  ; 


238 


INDEX 


effect  of  father's  death,  148 ; 
and  Pre-Raphaelite  Brethren, 
150;  bewails  his  joyless  con- 
dition, 154;  without  thoughts, 
162  ;  sulks,  162  ;  on  his  future, 
163,  ii.  73,  78,  104,  105,  127; 
wretchedness  and  impatience 
of  pain,  i.  164;  all  but  dead, 
165;  at  Ambleside  (1867), 
166,  168;  denies  lost  tone  of 
mind,  168  ;  at  work,  but  nerve- 
less, 169 ;  thoughtful  kind- 
ness, 176, 195 ;  restless  and  un- 
happy, 177  ;  contrast  of  per- 
sonal intercourse  and  writings, 
177,  230  ;  lack  of  consecutive 
occupation,  178,  ii.  63,  64;  at 
Abbeville  (1868),  i.  178,  182- 
188;  and  Longfellow,  178, 
187,  188,206;  plans  unaccom- 
plished, 187,  ii.  56,  65 ;  thinks 
two  hearts  better  than  one, 
i.  193;  meets  Darwin,  195; 
breaks  away  from  work,  (1869), 
202,  205,  213;  on  making  his 
will,  205,  211,  238;  everything 
a  problem,  207  j  mental  influ- 
ence of  pain,  209 ;  serious 
matters  on  hand,  209  ;  suffers 
from  reticences,  213;  opiate 
of  work,  225,  260  ;  exaction  of 
his  love,  225,  240  ;  indifferent 
to  posthumous  reputation,  238, 
241  ;  sensitive  to  present  criti- 
cisms, 238,  ii.  62;  desire  for 
truth,  i.  267  ;  pain,  indignation, 
and  mental  growth,  265,  ii. 
27  ;  almost  happy,  20  ;  life  at 
Oxford,  31,  49,  50;  death  of 
Annie,  32 ;  business  affairs, 
36, 115, 162  ;  purchases  Brant- 
wood,  37  ;  expectations  of  life 


at  Brantwood,  38,  41,  51,  59, 
70 ;  mother's  death,  44,  47  ; 
keeping  accounts,  46 ;  specta- 
cles, 47,  58, 69;  profile,  47 ;  sells 
Turner's  Slaver ^  48 ;  unsocia- 
ble, 48 ;  bitter  memory  of 
London,  50 ;  first  continental 
journey,  52 ;  strength  at  fifty- 
four,  58  ;  at  fifty-seven,  137  ; 
at  sixty-seven,  217;  mental 
digestion,  67  ;  physical  indi- 
gestion, 67,  113,  117,  119;  ex- 
cess of  emotion,  63 ;  brain 
fever,  64,  65,  146-150,  152, 
164,  166,  167-169,  175,  192, 
194,215-218;  routine  (1873), 
67 ;  at  his  first  home,  69 ; 
chess  with  the  automaton,  71, 
72  ;  denounces  steam  whistle, 
87  ;  portrait  in  Fors,  11 1  ;  ac- 
knowledges wrong  compan- 
ionship, 112  ;  bust,  117  ;  work 
more  pleasing,  120;  at  Broad- 
lands,  121,  122 ;  his  life  a 
thing  of  the  past,  122,  132; 
intense  practicality,  130,  133  ; 
posting,  132  ;  more  serene  in 
spirit,  133 ;  and  C.  H.  Moore, 
135,  140,  141,  170;  and  Mrs. 
Severn,  149,  166,  200,  210; 
idleness  (1878),  150;  on 
Whistler's  suit,  152;  builds  a 
boat,  1 56 ;  guides  movements 
by  chance  verse  in  Horace, 
155;  lesson  of  illness  forgot- 
ten, 164,  168,  170;  life  at 
Brantwood,  166 ;  activity  and 
fluctuating  state  of  mind  ( 1 88 1 ), 
171  ;  irritable  about  friends, 
172,  173  ;  travel  (1882),  176; 
rowing,  194  ;  old  diaries,  199  ; 
great  variety  of  occupations, 


INDEX 


239 


201 ;  presents  bells  to  Conis- 
ton  School,  202  ;  sees  Tem- 
pest played  by  children,  202 ; 
private  complainings,  204  ;  ef- 
fect on,  of  change  in  the  Alps, 
200;  writes  letters  though 
forbidden,  210 ;  hopes  to  be 
his  own  master  (i886),  212; 
meant  for  a  lawyer,  218 ; 
on  killing  a  viper,  219 ;  last 
years,  222 ;  shining  life,  222. 
See  also  Norton,  C.  E.,  Re- 
ligion. 

Work  and  interests:  toil 
and  trials  in  Venice,  i.  32-36; 
interest  in  Workingmen's  Col- 
lege, i.  40 ;  lectures  at  Man- 
chester {1857),  44 ;  sketches 
buildings  liable  to  restoration, 
63,  178,  214;  tires  of  the  hills, 
67,  68 ;  declines  to  write  for 
Atlantic^  61,  87  ;  geology,  no, 
145,  161,  180,  ii.  117,  119,  120; 
Greek  and  Greek  culture,  i. 
119,  123,  146,  152,  155,  200,  ii. 
20-23,  25-28,  73;  lecture  on 
Savoy  mountains,  i.  140  ;  liter, 
ary  activity  (1865),  148;  Se- 
same and  Lilies^  149,  254; 
Crown  of  Wild  Olive ^  149; 
mineralogy,  149,  255,  ii.  46, 
201 ;  quietly  busy  (1865),  i. 
150,  152  ;  natural  history,  150, 
152,  ii.  210 ;  botany,  i.  159,  161, 
254,  256,  ii.  151,  152,  197; 
painting,  i.  162 ;  lost  oppor- 
tunities concerning  Turner, 
166,  167,  ii.  75;  early  verses, 
i.  196-199 ;  plan  to  control 
Alpine  drainage,  204,  207,  208, 
216,  236;  Old  French,  242, 
254,  ii.  67  ;  standard  literature 


for  young  people,  i.  254,  259; 
music  lessons,  256 ;  multifari- 
ous interests  (1869),  253-256, 
259;  (187 1),  ii.  45-47  ;  copy  of 
Roman  de  la  RosCy  17  ;  use  of 
poetic  allusions,  20 ;  conscious 
of  inaccuracies,  21  ;  looks  for 
the  under  thought,  22 ;  his 
books  ovelara,  23  ;  at  a  Meta- 
physical Society  dinner,  29 ; 
devotes  money  to  economics, 
time  to  art,  35  ;  revised  works, 
39;  Fors  Clavigera,  39,  41,  64, 
68,  78,  88,  203 ;  publications 
(1871),  40-42, 45 ;  Lord  Rector 
of  St.  Andrew's,  45  ;  work  on 
Scott,  66,  159,  161;  work 
(1873),  69;  best  work,  loi,  102 ; 
glacier  lectures,  104;  future 
work  (1875),  iioj  arranges 
his  old  work,  119;  publica- 
tions (1875),  121 ;  contending 
convictions,  127  ;  preface  to 
Xenophon,  130 ;  translation 
of  Plato,  139,  159;  work 
after  his  illness,  150-152,  168, 
170;  delayed  work,  156;  work 
(1879),  159;  Sheffield  mu- 
seum, 161,  163 ;  work  on  the 
Alps,  195,  202;  work  (1884), 
201-203 ;  medallions  of  Brit- 
ish types,  202  ;  work  on  clouds, 
201 ;  lectures  on  pleasures  of 
England,  205 ;  autobiography, 
210,  211,  213,  220-222  ;  works 
pirated  in  America,  212  ;  work 
(1887),  219,  220.  See  also 
Architecture,  Art,  Drawing, 
Economics,  Social  conditions. 

Opinions :  on  Rome,  i.  25- 
28 ;  on  ugliness  of  America, 
27-29 ;  on  gondolas,  32 ;  on 


240 


INDEX 


moonlight,  39;  on  happiness 
in  America,  50  ;  on  harvest 
of  oats  and  vintage,  52  ; 
on  English  rivers,  53 ;  on 
America,  57,  268,  ii.  47,  51, 100, 
170,  212  ;  on  Atlantic  Monthly, 
i.  57  ;  on  England  and  the  Ital- 
ian war,  80,  81,  85;  questions 
progress  and  its  direction,  84 ; 
on  John  Brown's  raid,  91  ;  on 
natural  science,  117,  15  5 ;  finds 
comfort  in  Socrates,  117;  on 
Civil  War,  120,  121,  130,  133- 
136,  145,  146,  151,  153,  156, 
158;  on  inwardness  of  happi- 
ness, 142;  helpless  bitterness 
against  humanity,  143,  144;  on 
modern  destruction  of  nature 
and  art,  155,  222,  ii.  90,  136, 
178,  181,  183-185  ;  on  Darwin, 
i.  181 ;  on  a  sick  Catholic 
friend,  193 ;  ungentle  world, 
194 ;  on  "  attempting  "  to  inter- 
pret an  inscription,  213;  on 
strife  of  life,  218;  on  old  and 
new  fashions,  218;  on  travel- 
ling Americans,  218  ;  on  Ti- 
cino  torrent,  226;  on  Rigi 
railroad,  227  ;  on  tourists,  228 ; 
pig  rhyme  and  its  moral,  233- 
235  ;  on  cheapness  and  cheap 
books,  243 ;  on  liberty  and 
justice,  247  ;  on  spiritual  train- 
ing of  children,  251-253 ;  on 
death  of  Dickens,  ii.  4;  on 
Franco-German  War,  12,  24; 
on  limits  of  insanity,  13 ;  on 
frivolous  pugnacity  of  world, 
30;  on  evil  in  nature,  33,  56, 
113,  115,  133,  184,  200,  220; 
on  women,  39 ;  on  Dresden, 
42 ;  on  establishment  of  na- 


tionality, 100 ;  on  Eastern 
Italy,  104  ;  on  decrease  of  Al- 
pine snow  and  its  moral,  107, 
177  ;  on  lawlessness,  T08;  and 
Spiritualism,  128,  129,  133, 
169  ;  on  work  and  faith  in  lies, 
129;  on  past  and  present  know- 
ledge, 130;  on  motive  power  of 
light,  131  ;  on  modern  philoso- 
phy, 131 ;  on  European  power 
of  Italy,  155;  on  despondency, 
157  ;  on  incitement  of  work  for 
praise,  160 ;  on  children's  read- 
ing, 160;  on  Carlyle's  work, 
167,  168  ;  on  Froude's  Carlyle^ 
176,  190,  216;  on  Carlyle-Em- 
erson  letters,  189-191  ;  on  Car- 
lyle's whine,  190,  204 ;  on  retro- 
gression of  species,  191  ;  on 
work  and  eccentricities  of  great 
men,  194,  206;  on  distribution 
of  British  Museum  treasures, 
197  ;  on  Ischian  earthquake, 
200;  on  Carlyle's  egotism,  209; 
on  Sydney  Smith's  philosophy, 
217  ;  on  Humboldt- Agassiz  let- 
ters, 218.  See  also  Architec- 
ture, Art,  Drawing,  Econo- 
mics, Literature,  Religion, 
Social  conditions. 
Ruskin,  J.  J.,  invites  Norton  to 
dinner,  i.  10;  appearance,  12; 
and  his  son,  13,  94,  106,  147; 
character,  17,  21,  147 ;  his 
Nelson  sherry,  19 ;  on  Cole- 
ridge's lectures,  20;  on  Em- 
erson, 21  ;  to  Norton  (1858), 
on  Turner's  drawings  and  buy- 
ing pictures,  62-65  ;  and  Nor- 
ton, 65;  urges  completion  of 
Modern  Painters,  79 ;  to  Nor- 
ton (1861),  son's  health,  114; 


INDEX 


241 


death,  147  ;  estate,  147  ;  tomb 
and  epitaph,  163  ;  diaries,  ii. 
SI- 

Ruskin,  Mrs.  J.  J.,  appearance, 
character,  i.  12,  43;  and  her 
son,  13,  43,  106,  176,  ii.  26 ; 
faith,  i.  125;  health,  150,  161, 
163,  179;  decline,  ii.  36,  38,  40, 
41  ;  death,  44,  47  ;  inciter  of 
R.'s  work  for  praise,  160. 

St.   Andrew's    University,  R. 

elected  Lord  Rector,  ii.  45. 
St.  Gothard  tunnel,  R.  would 

choke,  ii.  184. 
St.  Louis,  missal,  i.  104,  203  ; 

Joinville's  MimoireSy  104  n. ; 

Hours,  186. 
St.  Martin's,  inn,  i.  7 ;  R.  at 

(i860),  99;  in  1874,  ii.  103, 

104. 

Sainte-Beuve,  C.  A.,  R.  on,  i. 

239,  ii.  12,  15. 
Sallenche,  in  1874,  ii.  103 ;  R.,  at 

(1882),  176. 
Schaffhausen,  R.  at  (1859),  i.  79. 
Science,  lectures  on  art  and,  ii. 

46.  See  also  sciences  by  name. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  R.'s  work  on, 

ii.  66,  159,  161. 
Sculpture.    See  Art. 
Severn,  Mrs.  Arthur  (Joanna  R. 

Agnew),  and  R.,  i.  211,  ii.  3, 

4,  149,  166,  208,  210. 
Sesame  and  Lilies,  i.  149 ;  new 

edition,  254. 
Shaw,  Flora,  at  Brantwood,  ii. 

196. 

Sheffield,  R.'s  museum,  ii.  161, 
163. 

Sickle,  graceful  and  metaphori- 
cal, i.  53. 


Siena,  R.  and  Norton  at  (1870), 

ii.  3,  223 ;  Pisano's  pulpit,  ii. 

3,  13,  18 ;  artistic  fall  of,  54,  55. 
Simon,  Sir  John,  on  R.'s  illness 

(1878),  ii.  146-148. 
Smith,  R.  B.,  Colonel,  Italian 

Irrigation,  i.  235  n. 
Smith,  Sydney,  philosophy  of,  ii. 

217. 

Social  conditions,  beginning  of 
R.'s  interest  in,  i.  23,  40,  44 ; 
R.'s  antagonism  to  modern,  51, 
74,  79,  80,  93,  100,  116,  139, 
142-144,  156,  205,  214,  225.  ii. 
63,  78,  80,  81,  83,  88,  95,  103, 
119, 128,  183-185  ;  present-life 
problems  paramount,  i.  118, 
ii.  118,  126,  138;  Norton  fears 
victory  of  materialism,  20S; 
R.  sees  increase  of  spiritual- 
ity, 209.    See  also  Economics. 

Socrates  comforts  R.,  i.  117. 

Spiritualism,  R.'s  interest  in,  ii. 
126,  128-130,  133,  169. 

Spring,  R.'s  early  verses  on,  i. 
198 ;  beginning  in  Gothic 
times,  ii.  46. 

Starlight,  Alpine  and  Italian,  ii. 
103. 

Steam  whistle  distracts  R.,  ii. 
87. 

Stigmata,  modern  instance  of,  ii. 
124. 

Stephen,  Leslie,  and  R.,  ii.  135. 
Stillman,  W.  J.,  and  R.,  i.  98-101, 
112. 

Stones  of  Venice,  gathering  ma- 
terial for,  i.  32-35  ;  memo- 
randa, ii.  108;  new  edition, 
137. 

Stowe,  Harriet  B.,  Mrs.,  at  Dur- 
ham, i.  54. 


242 


INDEX 


Swinburne,  A.  C,  Atalanta^  i. 
157- 

Switzerland,  unreliable  tradi- 
tions, i.  66.  See  also  Alps. 

Tempest,  played  by  children  for 

R.,  ii.  202. 
Thompson,  H.  G.,  i.  104  n. 
Thun,  Lake,  R.  at,  i.  83,  231. 
Ticino  River,   torrent,  i.   226 ; 

drive  up,  268. 
Tintoret,  art,  i.  72,  261,  ii.  35, 

39 ;  Norton  acquires  works  by, 

35- 

Titian,  art  of,  i.  72,  106;  R. 
copies,  85;  Strozzi  picture,  ii.  9. 

Tortoise  of  Egina,  ii.  20. 

Trevelyan,  Lady,  death  of,  i.  159. 

Triumph  of  Maxim  ilian,  ii.  50. 

Turin,  R.  at  (1858),  i.  67  ;  study 
and  incident  there  work  a  great 
change  in  his  artistic  and  reli- 
gious convictions,  67-73. 

Turner,  J.  M.  W.,  works  pos- 
sessed by  R.,  i.  3,  4,  1 1 ;  Nor- 
ton purchases  water-color  by, 
24 ;  '31  ;  art,  24,  59-61,  168  ; 
R.  .arranges  his  drawings,  30, 
37.  52,  58-63;  Liber  Stu- 
diorum,  165-168,  ii.  151  ;  R.'s 
lost  opportunities  concerning, 
i.  166,  167,  ii.  75  ;  drawings  for 
sale,  i.  201  ;  and  Ticino  torrent, 
226 ;  favorite  quay,  232 ; 
treatment,  ii.  14 ;  R.  sells 
Slaver,  48, 49 ;  R.  to  sell  Rialto, 
52  ;  proofs  of  Rivers,  72  ;  and 
R.'s  drawing,  75;  his  art  not 
for  America,  1 1 1 ;  French 
biography,  201. 

Ulric,  ii.  220. 


Ulysses,  Horace  and  Dante  on 

death  of,  i.  210. 
Unto  this  Last,  i.  95,  103. 

Val  £/'.<4^«i7,  planned, ii.  54;  Nor- 
ton's comments,  70;  plate, 
88  ;  on  Greek  types,  89. 

Vasari,  Giorgio,  his  correctness, 
ii.  54, 77,  102. 

Venice,  gondolas,  i.  32 ;  R.'s  toil 
and  trials  in,  32-35,  sunset  35; 
city  of  marble  and  mud,  36; 
moonlight,  38,  39  ;  school  of 
painting,  73  ;  R.  at  (1870),  259, 
260;  R.  at  (1876),  128-133; 
R.'s  guide  to,  133;  R.'s  drawing 
of  arch  of  St.  Mark's,  148, 
202. 

Verona,  R.*s  enthusiasm  for,  i. 
39;  R.  at  (1869),  204;  modern 
inhabitants,  205,  214 ;  tomb  at 
St.  Anastasia  cemetery,  211, 
212  n. ;  griffins  on  cathedral, 
214 ;  destruction  of  Theodo- 
ric's  palace,  215. 

Veronese,  Paolo,  his  Solomon 
and  Queen  of  Sheba,  i.  70,  72 ; 
depth  and  subtlety  of  his  work, 
72. 

Vevay,  Norton  at  (1869),  i,  204. 
Vinci,  Leonardo  da,  temper  of,  i. 

266;  spelling  of  name,  266; 

art  of,  ii.  198. 
Vintage  and  harvest  of  oats,  i. 

54- 

Viper,  R.  on  killing,  ii.  219. 
Virgil,  R.  on  first  Georgic,  i.  140, 

ii.  15;  verses  in  iEneid  viii. 

to  be  studied,  18-20;  Bur- 

mann's  edition  of,  18 ;  Norton 

on,  19  n. 
Valterra  and  Fesole,  ii.  194. 


INDEX 


243 


Wales,  R.  in  (1861),  i.  120;  R.'s 

early  verses  on,  197. 
Watson,  Dr.,  i.  115. 
Westminster  Abbey,  R.  on,  ii. 

114. 

Whistler,  J.  A.  M.,  suit  against 

R.,  ii.  152. 
Will,  R.  on  making  his,  i.  205, 

211,  238. 
Winter  in  Alps,  i.  122,  126. 


Woman,  R.  on,  ii.  39. 
Workingmen's    College,  pur- 
pose, i.  40  ;  R.'s  interest,  40. 
Wright,  Chauncey,  i.  1 10  n. 

Xenophon,  R.'s  preface  to,  ii. 
130. 

Zita,  Santa,  R,  plans  a  biography 
of,  ii.  201. 


ElectrotyPed  and  printed  dy  H.  O.  Houghton  «&*  C#. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.  A. 


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